


Failsafe

by VelkynKarma



Series: Parallel by Proxy [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, Illness, Kuron (Voltron)-centric, Kuron is Shiro (Voltron)'s Clone, Major Illness, PTSD, Shiro (Voltron)-centric, bad language, clone degeneration, heed warnings in notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-01 19:27:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 49,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13301646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VelkynKarma/pseuds/VelkynKarma
Summary: In the aftermath of Shiro's rescue and recovery, he and the team start to figure out how exactly to incorporate Ryou into their dynamic, while Ryou takes some time to try and determine who he is. But when Ryou starts acting out of sorts, Shiro and the others realize they might not have as much time as they'd like.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! I'm back with a sequel to Mirror Image, 'cause I can't get enough of Kuron/Ryou. Enjoy :)
> 
>  **Please be aware** that a lot of the symptoms and illnesses described in this fic are strongly based on things like dementia and several cancers. If you are in any way disturbed by or uncomfortable with these things, **please turn back now.**

Having a clone, Shiro discovers, is weird.   
  
It’s not something most people can comprehend back on Earth. Even identical twins are fundamentally different people with different origins. They won’t share the same memories and still develop their own ways of thinking and handling things, even if they end up developing similarly. They’re two distinct people from the start.   
  
A clone is…different. It’s like Shiro somehow split in two without ever realizing it, and only after over twenty years of being the same individual do they begin to diverge.   
  
It’s weird, and it takes some getting used to. But there are good things that come of it.  
  
There’s the tactical usefulness of it, of course. Even when Shiro had been recovering, Ryou had been able to cover him on missions. He could fly the Black Lion, if he had to. Even after Shiro’s full recovery, and Coran’s declaration two feebs ago that he was fighting fit again, Ryou could provide backup in an emergency. He still had Shiro’s tactical prowess and was able to analyze combat in a split-second perspective, often providing feedback on greater battles while Shiro was more immediately focused on Voltron. And he’s still skilled in melee combat, enough to provide an extra team-mate for ground missions when they need more numbers than Voltron can provide. He was useful; there was no denying that.   
  
But it’s more than that. Ryou’s more than just a weapon or a tool. That’s what Haggar had thought of him, and she’d been a fool in the end to think of him as something so much less than what he was. He’s a person, a friend, and a good compliment for the team. It’s a little awkward for everyone to get used to him, but he likes helping them. He takes team support very seriously, just like Shiro does. Once coaxed out of is self-imposed isolation, he enjoys spending time with the rest of the team, too. It’s good for them, to have someone else they can rely on both in and out of battle. And it’s good for Ryou too—who, as the months pass, is starting to develop as his own person.   
  
It’s hard to spot at first. Ryou is so fundamentally Shiro when they first meet that they’re nearly indistinguishable in mind and in action just as much as in body. And he doesn’t deviate much from that framework while Shiro is still in recovery. He’s still acting as the black paladin, then, leading the rest of the team in missions, and they need a Shiro proxy more than anything else until they get a handle on the new situation. Ryou imitates flawlessly, enough that the team can function in split-second combat without second guessing or losing focus. Ryou leads them well, then. Shiro watches a lot of the logs, and is impressed by (and, if he’s honest, a little disturbed by) how identically Ryou handles scenarios compared to how he himself would.   
  
But after… _after_ is when things start to change. The day Coran declares Shiro fighting fit again, and he’s ready to join Voltron once more, Ryou steps down without a word of complaint. He hands over the Black Lion with what’s almost a relieved smile, and settles into other tasks. And when he’s no longer _trying_ to be a carbon copy of Shiro for the sake of the mission, when he starts trying to figure himself out… _that_ , Shiro thinks fondly, had been interesting to watch.   
  
Ryou starts slow. Very slow. He’s still got Shiro’s personality—occasionally willing to take part in petty arguments or blowing off steam before an anxiety-inducing mission, but by and large reserved and with very specific, certain ways of handling things. It’s not easy to break a mindset you’ve been in for your whole life.   
  
Shiro doesn’t envy him the attempt, if he’s honest. He’s not sure what _he’d_ do if he’d suddenly learned everything he ever thought about himself was a lie, a copy of someone else’s thoughts and feelings. The desire to break from that would be strong, but how do you just decide to _not_ be something you’ve been as long as you’ve ever known?  
  
So it’s slow going, and Shiro doesn’t push, as long as Ryou is trying to figure out who _Ryou_ wants to be and not who he’s ‘supposed’ to be. It’s little things, at first. He watches movies or reads books he’s never tried before to see if he has a taste for something different. He listens in on different conversations from the whole crew and makes at least a little effort to participate. He cautiously approaches hobbies or skills that Shiro had always found sort of interesting but never had the time to cultivate. He never branches far from Shiro’s tastes yet, but it’s a start.  
  
He approaches every attempt with all the deliberation of Shiro approaching a strategical problem, and in a way it’s almost funny to watch, if it wasn’t just the tiniest bit sad. Ryou never really had a chance at the exploration and experimentation of most kids or young teens. Shiro’s memories decided what he was and what he could do, and Ryou doesn’t seem to know any other way to approach the problem other than in that mindset.   
  
Still, Shiro’s proud of him for it. Ryou’s _trying_ and that’s the important thing. He’ll get there eventually.   
  
And he does eventually start to make some headway, in little things at least. His taste in literature and film becomes a little more expansive as he gradually works his way through Pidge’s and Matt’s entire catalogues. Lance recruits him as second player for _Killbot Phantasm 1_ and ends up permanently ‘hired’ for applying his tactical skills to the problems, to Ryou’s bemusement (but also amusement). He carefully works his way into the kitchen under Hunk’s very watchful eye, and manages to at least help with simple things without causing a fiasco. The day Hunk rescinds the ‘Shiro ban’ on the kitchen for Ryou is practically a badge of honor for him.   
  
It’s slow going. At least half of the time Shiro is sure Ryou is still worried about proving he’s not something evil lying in wait, and he has a hard time understanding he doesn’t need to redeem himself anymore. That desperation to prove he’s worth something, that he can contribute without threat of the Galra’s interference, seems to leave him clinging to Shiro’s personality inside of him more often than is probably healthy for him. But he’s getting there. Most importantly, he’s making his own choices while doing so, and even if the vast majority of his choices are still nearly identical to Shiro’s, he’s still learning. It’s progress, and Shiro’s happy for him.   
  
It seems almost strange that he _should_ be proud of Ryou, in a way. Of everyone on team Voltron, Shiro should by all rights have the hardest time accepting that he’s been duplicated, and that his memories were stolen and given to someone else. It _should_ be an incredible breach of privacy; Ryou is living proof of exactly how far the Galra are willing to go to hurt him, his friends, and the entire universe. If nothing else, adjusting to having a clone seems like it _should_ be awkward, as Shiro figures out who this stranger is that mimics him so perfectly in both body and mind.   
  
And in some ways it is awkward, certainly. Neither Shiro nor Ryou asked for this, and every day learning to live with the other there is an ongoing discovery. No matter how much Shiro doesn’t hold the actions of the Galra against Ryou, it’s still an odd transition to make, suddenly having a new person who’s a stranger and yet simultaneously too familiar with him on the team.  
  
But Shiro actually adjusts better than anticipated…and he thinks it’s at least in part due to having a head start. Meeting Ryou in the dream-cage has a great deal to do with that, he thinks. In an entire world of illusions and false hopes, Ryou had been the only presence that was real and reliable. Shiro had grown to trust him before even knowing who he was. Ryou had risked his life and his sanity to save Shiro. The rest of the team had assisted, but Ryou had been _there_ , and understood on a profound level what Shiro was seeing, more than anyone else. They already know each other well, in a strange sort of way, and Ryou had never felt forced on him like he might have if they met in different circumstances.  
  
So adjusting to having a clone is weird, and figuring out where their newest team member fits in is a matter of trial and error, but for all that, it’s worth it. Shiro already knows Ryou is worth getting to know, worth helping to adjust. He’s felt it. After that, the day to day trials and discoveries are just details by comparison.   
  
The hard part is convincing Ryou of it too, of course. But he’s getting there. Given enough time, Shiro is sure Ryou will find his way of his own accord. And, clone or not, odd circumstances or not, awkward transitions or not, Shiro is genuinely looking forward to seeing it happen.  
  
And then everything goes wrong.  
  
Just like Ryou finding himself, it’s difficult to spot the changes at first. It’s little things here and there, things that don’t really matter on their own. Stupid mistakes, silly things, never anything of importance, and that’s why nobody notices.  
  
“You can’t put a red card on a blue card, Ryou,” Lance complains during game night. Ryou participates more often of late. Sometimes they try new games, but tonight is an old favorite, with the Uno deck Pidge and Lance had cobbled together. Uno nights get vicious, but Ryou had learned to hold his own in them, and had scraped his fair share of victories.   
  
“You can,” Ryou says, frowning.   
  
“Only if they’re the same number or type of card,” Hunk chimes in. “Keith put down a blue six. Yours is a red seven.”   
  
“Oops,” Ryou says, a little sheepish. “Must’ve grabbed the wrong one, I guess. My bad.” He recovers the card and puts down the appropriate color.   
  
Easy mistake to make, really. Everyone’s done it at least once, even Shiro. He doesn’t think much of it.  
  
“How far away’s the target?” Lance asks a movement later over the comms, in the middle of a mission. “If it’s close enough I can probably snipe it. Cover the others.”  
  
“Fifty feet, more or less?” Ryou answers, after a moment’s hesitation. He plays mission control more these days, now that he’s relinquished the Black Lion back to Shiro. It’s nice to have eyes in the sky with Shiro’s tactical knowledge. “I think you can take it, but you’ll need to detour.”   
  
But when Lance does, he snorts. “Fifty feet in another reality, maybe,” he says. “This is way longer than that. It’s okay, if I change my bayard to sniper configuration I think I can still make it. I’ve got you covered, guys.”  
  
“Sorry,” Ryou apologizes. “Bad angle on the camera feeds we hacked. It looked a lot shorter…”  
  
“It’s good, I’ve got it.”   
  
Shiro wonders for only a second over the mistake. He’s busy taking down three sentries aiming for the others to worry further. The target is taken care of, and that’s all that matters. Lance takes it down, and they complete the mission without a further hitch.  
  
“Ryou, there you—oh, Shiro!” Coran says the next day, catching him just outside the training room. “We need to color coordinate you two better, you know. From the right angle it’s still impossible to tell you apart.”  
  
“Duly noted,” Shiro says. “You needed Ryou? I haven’t seen him since breakfast.”   
  
“Drat,” Coran says. “He agreed to help me with some calibrations on the main deck for tactical maneuvering. So we can keep a better eye on all of you during the big fights, you know. And then we were going to go over some of the scheduling for the next motivational event…you know, since he’s been doing more of the public appearances for you? We agreed to meet on the deck half a varga ago, but I haven’t seen him.”   
  
“I’ll keep an eye out for him, and let him know you were looking,” Shiro offers. Inwardly, though, he’s a little puzzled by the story. The Garrison had hammered the importance of punctuality into him years ago, especially for significant tasks like Coran’s. He knows it’s something Ryou still shares with him. It’s odd that he wouldn’t show up.  
  
But maybe he just lost track of time. It happens to everyone. No big deal.  
  
“What happened to Hunk’s space cake?” Pidge asks with a frown, three days later. “It’s all…flat and burned around the edges.”  
  
There’s to be another political dinner with the leaders of the coalition, and Hunk has been running around the kitchen for days trying to prepare. The others, even Ryou, have been enlisted to help with preparations. Shiro is forced to watch from the doorway, expressly forbidden from even setting foot inside the kitchen, but watching from just outside. He wants to make sure Hunk in particular doesn’t overwork himself—or turn into a kitchen tyrant. Fifty-fifty odds for either, really.   
  
“Hey, I didn’t _touch_ the cake,” Lance says, raising flour covered hands defensively. “I’ve been kneading and baking bread all afternoon, an I’m using the other oven for that.”  
  
“Cutting vegetables,” Keith says, raising his (ordinary, kitchen) knife in explanation before returning to his task.   
  
“Shelling nuts,” Pidge agrees. “Ew,” she adds as an afterthought.   
  
“Uh…” Ryou regards the ruined remains of the cake with a frown. “I was on cake duty, but…I don’t know what happened? Everything seemed fine when I put it in…” He regards Hunk’s hand-written recipe card in his hand with confusion.  
  
Hunk sweeps into the kitchen with a fresh bag of noodles, but stops dead at the sight of the cake. He hands off the noodles to a waiting Coran, takes one sniff of the cake, and frowns. “No shillex oil,” he picks out immediately. “That’s step three on the card, Ryou. That’s what makes it rise and keeps it fluffy.”   
  
“Oh,” Ryou says. He looks flustered, and Shiro winces in sympathy for him. Been there, wrecked a couple dozen meals. The secondhand embarrassment hurts, but he knows it must be worse for Ryou, when he’d been so proud of being approved for kitchen duty.   
  
“It’s okay, I’ve got this,” Hunk says, rolling up his sleeves. “I can make another in time before the dinner, we’re cool.”  
  
“I can help you—“  
  
“I’ve got to go fast for this one, Ryou,” Hunk says. “No offense. It’s just, we’re running low on time, and there’s still the main dish and the pasta and the hors d’oeuvres and the drinks and—“  
  
“It’s okay,” Ryou says. “No problem. I get it, just call if you need me.” And he steps out of the way, close to the door Shiro’s waiting just outside of.  
  
“Cooking clearly is not in our genes,” Shiro offers consolingly. Failing at anything is hard for him, and probably still for Ryou too.  
  
“Guess not,” Ryou agrees. But under his breath, so low Shiro’s not sure he’s supposed to have heard, he hears Ryou mutter, “But I followed the directions…”   
  
For some reason, that makes Shiro uncomfortable.   
  
It’s always little things. Ryou misplaces a tool and forgets where he put it. He squints at holographic displays sometimes, and eventually starts making them larger than usual, increasing the translated text and image size. He puts in an appearance for the coalition motivational meetings to represent Voltron, but forgets the name of the planet and its inhabitants, and Coran intervenes for him. He handles well in sparring practice but wobbles in the middle of empty hallways, fumbling for balance.   
  
Always little things. Always things that could happen to anyone. That could—and have—even happened to Shiro, on occasion. Things that can be easily explained away—naturally poor at cooking, wearing himself out in training, having too much on his mind. Always little things, except that as time passes they happen more often, and it starts getting just a little bit strange.   
  
And then it’s not little anymore. Not after Chersha.   
  
Chersha is the newest liberated planet in Voltron’s effort to free the universe. It had been a difficult planet to recover, requiring some tight coordination between Voltron, the rebels, a few Blade of Marmora agents, and the insurgent faction on the planet itself. While each team had a specific role to play, Coran and Ryou had managed communications and coordination between them all. Everyone had been in their elements, sharp and on point, and while it had been a difficult battle they had eventually forced the Galra to flee.   
  
So it’s with pride that all of them come together to meet with the Chershan nobility and resistance leaders to invite them to the coalition. Olia and Matt represent the rebel forces, Kolivan quietly attends for the Blade, and the full force of Team Voltron makes an appearance. Even Keith and Ryou, though technically not present as paladins, stand alongside the team in victory.   
  
And it goes well, at first. It seems like at least half of the Chershan population is out in the city streets celebrating their liberation. The team and their allies are mingling, getting to know people and inspiring high morale with their very presence. Shiro and Allura take on the more difficult task of discussing arrangements and the necessities of entering Chersha into the coalition with the royals, but even that is more lighthearted than usual.   
  
Then Shiro glances around to mark where everyone is again—idle habit—and realizes Ryou is gone.   
  
He’s not in the crowd. Shiro’s at least half a foot taller than most Chershans, which means Ryou is too by proxy, and thus easy to spot…if he was there. It’s not cause for alarm _quite_ yet, though. There’s other possibilities for the sudden disappearance. Excusing himself from the conversation—Allura has the dignitary aspects well under way now and doesn’t need his help—Shiro steps aside so he can page Coran over the comms with no interference.   
  
“Shiro! Having fun at the ol’ shindig?” Coran asks brightly.   
  
“It’s alright,” Shiro says absently. “Listen, did Ryou enter the ship?”   
  
There’s always a possibility Ryou just got tired of all the action outside. Since he has Shiro’s skill for inspiring and recruiting others, and he no longer pilots the Black Lion, he does more of the planet-side speeches and events while Shiro focuses solely on Voltron. He’s good at it, and volunteered to essentially be the public face of Voltron. But it means it’s more than likely he’s tired of all this already, when he deals with it now more than anyone else.   
  
But Coran’s voice is less than reassuring. “Negative, number one. No one’s come in or out since the party started, authorized or otherwise. We’ve kept the Castle locked up tight for these things since Sendak.”   
  
“Yeah, I know.” Shiro frowns. “Let me know if you hear from him?”  
  
“Certainly, Shiro. Is there a problem?”  
  
“Not yet,” Shiro says.   
  
But _yet_ is the key word. If he’s not in the Castle, there’s not many other places Ryou could be, and Shiro starts to worry. This _was_ a freshly liberated planet, after all. It’s entirely possible there’s still Galra loyalists, or places that are still booby-trapped. He could have been attacked, or kidnapped.   
  
He catches Keith’s eye, and taps his helmet once. Keith catches on at once, switching on his earpiece. He’s not currently wearing red paladin armor, and is still in his Blade uniform from his stealth part of the mission, although he notably keeps his distance from Kolivan. There had been some falling out involving Keith choosing to search for and assist Shiro, rather than following mission parameters of the Blade. It means he needs the earpiece to remain on the Voltron frequency, but Pidge had been all too happy to provide it.  
  
He offers a quick thumbs up when ready, and Shiro activates the Voltron armor comm link. “Anyone seen Ryou?” he asks, keeping his voice low.   
  
“Saw him fifteen doboshes ago,” Lance offers. “Over by the food table. Looks like he’s gone now though?”  
  
“I don’t see him,” Hunk reports.  
  
“No visual for me either,” Pidge agrees.   
  
Shiro frowns. Something in his gut tells him this isn’t right. “Can we track him, Pidge?” he asks. “Find out where he went?”  
  
“He’s not wearing armor,” Pidge says. “Just civilian clothing, and that’s not tagged.”   
  
“What about his earpiece?” Keith offers, gesturing at his own ear. “He’s got one too for emergencies, right?”  
  
“Not actually equipped with a tracker, but I can try to see if I can raise it,” Pidge says. “What’s the matter, Shiro? Is something wrong?”  
  
“Not sure,” Shiro says. “Keep this quiet, I don’t want to start a panic. Just…something doesn’t feel right about this. We _just_ liberated this planet, and it’s not the first time the Galra have come back with a parting blow after losing.”  
  
“They’re sore losers, all right,” Hunk agrees. “We can keep an eye out. I hope he’s okay…”  
  
So does Shiro.  
  
They don’t spot him after ten doboshes. After fifteen, the bad feeling in Shiro’s gut starts to shift to very real concern. Ryou hasn’t called in on his earpiece, which means he’s either not in danger, or he is and lost it. At twenty Pidge is still trying to locate the frequency for it, but reports that it’s off, making things significantly more complicated. By twenty-five, Shiro seriously considers pulling Allura and Coran in to assist, and maybe a few of the more trustworthy members of the rebel army. Matt would know who could discreetly help search.   
  
It’s at thirty doboshes that they finally make a breakthrough. Pidge exclaims suddenly in victory, and there’s a loud crackle as a new line is patched into the frequency. Shiro can hear breathing over the line suddenly, harsh and nervous sounding.   
  
“Ryou?” he asks. Low, cautious—not enough to be distracting, if Ryou is in a dangerous situation.  
  
There’s a very long pause and a softly drawn breath, and then Ryou answers, slow and hesitant. “Sh…shiro?”  
  
“It’s me,” Shiro acknowledges. The others are silent on the line, but Shiro can see both Keith and Hunk from where he’s standing, just waiting for the order to move into action. “Are you okay? You sound winded.”  
  
“No, I’m…I’m fine,” Ryou answers, after another moment of hesitation. But he doesn’t sound fine. He sounds confused.   
  
“Where are you?” Shiro asks. “Do you need help?”  
  
Silence.  
  
“Ryou?” Shiro presses, more urgently than before. “I need you to answer me.”  
  
“I don’t know.”   
  
Hearing his own voice sounding so _small_ over the line is enough to make Shiro’s stomach do an odd, uncomfortable flip. “You don’t know?” he repeats slowly.  
  
“No, I…” A pause. “I don’t know how I got here,” Ryou says softly. His voice is shaking slightly. “I don’t know where I am. How did I…I don’t understand…?”  
  
His breathing is getting harsher. Shiro recognizes the sound as a precursor to his own moments of panic, when his memories return in a rush—or when he has his own blackouts and doesn’t know what happened in the interim. “Okay,” he says, trying to keep his voice as calm and steady as possible, “Okay, that’s okay, we’re going to make it work. I’m going to come get you now. Is there anyone there who is putting you in danger right at this moment? Anyone trying to kidnap you or attack you?”  
  
“No,” Ryou says. “No. There’s no one. There’s no one here at all, it’s…where _is_ everyone? Where _am_ I?”  
  
“We’re working on figuring that out, right now,” Shiro says. “Pidge, get me coordinates on that communicator if you can. Everyone else stay here, keep an eye out in case anything suspicious is going on. Keith, with me. Ryou—stay calm. Give me landmarks to work with.”   
  
“Like escaping?” Ryou asks. He sounds right on the edge of panic. Even so, Shiro frowns a little at the way he phrases the question. Ryou is usually consciously aware that most of his memories are Shiro’s, not his own, almost to a fault. Now it’s like that’s slipped his mind.   
  
No matter. Not important right now. “Yes,” Shiro agrees, knowing immediately which memories Ryou is thinking of. Memorizing every little detail, the shape of every unfamiliar letter on the decks, counting the number of halls and doors—anything to identify where he was on a Galra ship when he was a prisoner. “Just like that. What do you see?”  
  
There’s shaky breathing for a moment as Ryou no doubt looks around. “Outside,” he says after a moment. “Blue moon is north.”  
  
Enough to give him a direction to start in, at least. Shiro orients on the third moon and starts heading in the appropriate direction. Keith falls into step at his right side, one hand resting on the hilt of his dagger.  
  
“Good start,” Shiro encourages. “Keep going.”   
  
“Buildings. For a city, maybe. Think I’m…in an alley? There’s a sign. It’s red. Can’t read it.”   
  
“Good. Stay put, keep talking to me,” Shiro orders.  
  
Ryou does as Shiro heads deeper into the city. His voice is a little stronger now that he’s made contact, but he still sounds uneasy. Shiro doesn’t blame him. He’s still not sure what’s happened, but he knows it’s disorienting, to realize you have no idea where you are. Especially for someone like Ryou, who has _all_ of Shiro’s navigational skills as a pilot.   
  
“Think I got coordinates for you, Shiro,” Pidge says, five doboshes in. “It’s only approximate. I’ll install better trackers later. But it should get you close enough. Transmitting them now.”  
  
Shiro accepts them immediately and brings them up on his visor. Ryou’s at least ten doboshes away; Shiro wonders how he got so far without anyone noticing. Was it a kidnapping? A trap?   
  
“I’m on my way, Ryou,” he promises. “We have a rough idea of where you are now. Keep talking to me in the meantime. Do you remember anything at all about how you got there? What’s the last thing you do remember?”  
  
“No. I don’t know.” He sounds tired and frustrated. Shiro can sympathize far too well. “It felt important. I’m _sure_ it was important. I was…I was scheduled for a speech today. I didn’t miss it, did I?”   
  
That sends a pang of alarm through Shiro. Ryou sounds so unsure. Can he honestly not remember? Shiro glances over at Keith, who looks equally confused and surprised, and shakes his head slowly. No, not a familiar habit, for either Shirogane.   
  
That’s worrisome.   
  
“No speech,” Shiro says. “You didn’t miss anything.”  
  
“No?” Ryou doesn’t seem reassured. If anything, he sounds more anxious than before.   
  
“Don’t worry,” Shiro says. “We’re almost there, and we’ll figure it out.” He increases to a jog without even thinking, and Keith speeds up to match pace beside him.  
  
They reach Pidge’s coordinates in record time, and Shiro easily spots the red sign Ryou had mentioned earlier. He follows the clues back to the alley Ryou had mentioned, ready for some sort of skirmish, despite Ryou’s assurances to the contrary. Beside him, Keith clearly feels the same; his knife is already in his hands, and his expression is grim and determined.   
  
But when they turn the corner, nothing Shiro expects to see is there. There’s no waiting Galra kidnappers, or even the unconscious bodies of ones subdued by Ryou. There’s no weaponry, no bombs, no traps. Ryou is there, standing at the end of the alley with a lost expression on his face, but he bears no signs of a scuffle or injury, and he’s not restrained in any way. The alley isn’t even poorly lit, or messy enough to be obscuring.   
  
As far as Shiro can see, Ryou had just… _walked_ here, of his own accord. He’d walked here, but he hadn’t remembered it. He hadn’t been able to find his way back either, or even figure out where he was, despite sharing the mind of an ace pilot and skilled strategist.   
  
Shiro feels his stomach ice over with the first pangs of dread.   
  
“You’re here,” Ryou says, recognizing them. He stumbles a little as he comes closer, Shiro notes, but his voice, while still a little shaky, doesn’t slur. His pupils seem fine according to Shiro’s visor. Probably no concussion, and unlikely to be drugged.   
  
It’s not as reassuring as Shiro might have liked. It means something else is going on, without any of the obvious reasons to blame. And there are precious few other reasons his clone might be out wandering with no way to retrace his steps, and no memory of the incident.   
  
“You brought Keith,” Ryou says, blinking as he seems to notice Shiro’s backup for the first time.   
  
“I said I would,” Shiro points out cautiously. “Over the comms. Just in case we needed backup.” Which they clearly don’t. Keith seems to agree with the assessment, since he finally snaps his Marmoran knife back into its sheath.   
  
“Right. You did,” Ryou says, rubbing his face. “It’s just…shit. This has me all messed up. I don’t know what _happened._ I just…I had a speech today. It was important. I’m sure of it. I remember I had a job to do. You’re…you’re sure I didn’t have a speech today? I thought…”  
  
Shiro does his best to keep his expression calm and neutral. “I’m sure. You didn’t miss anything.”  
  
Once again, Ryou seems uneasy at that, and pales as he stares at his own Galra hand. “I don’t…you don’t think it was something for _her,_ do you?” His voice shakes again as he suggests it.  
  
“No,” Shiro says, very firmly. He doesn’t want to believe it. But both Ryou and Keith give him cautious, disbelieving looks, and Shiro offers a better reason. “If Haggar had that kind of power over you she would have used it at Naxzela, where no one suspected anything and it was right in the middle of her trap. By now everyone’s scanned your brain _and_ your arm for tricks and found nothing. Even if they did, why use it here, in the middle of a party, _after_ the Galra were driven away? Nothing about it makes sense.”   
  
The tactical reasoning seems to reassure Ryou, if only slightly. He drops his hand, but still looks a little shaken. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to…you shouldn’t have had to come track me down over something so stupid. I should’ve…” He pauses. “But it was _important._ I’m _sure_ of it. I just…”  
  
“You’ve been working hard,” Shiro says. “You just need a little rest. Trust me, you’ll feel better.”   
  
Keith shoots him a look that all but screams accusation over such a hypocritical statement, but he’s also clever enough to pick up on the mood. Ryou is distressed, and even if he and Ryou aren’t best friends, he still knows Shiro’s body language—and thus Ryou’s—enough to know not to push it. “We can take you back to the Castle,” he offers instead. “I’m tired of the crowds anyway. Allura’s wrapping up most of the political stuff. You’re probably fine to leave.”  
  
“Yeah,” Ryou says slowly. “Yeah, sure. Maybe that’s for the best.”   
  
The reassurance doesn’t last long. As they head back for the party, they take a more direct route. Ryou had only been about ten blocks from the edges of the party—by all rights, it should have been easy to find his way back. He seems to realize it as well, and grows increasingly more flustered and withdrawn as they make for one of the Castle’s pods. He doesn’t seem reassured by anything either Shiro or Keith say to try and boost his spirits.  
  
But then, Shiro’s not surprised. This might not be Haggar’s doing, but something is certainly going on here, and the icy feeling in the pit of his stomach only starts to grow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So every single one of you reviewers basically went, 'whelp, this is probably gonna hurt, let's do it,' and I think that's great. Here is your anticipated Suffering.

After the Chersha incident, Shiro pulls Ryou from active planet-side duties, combat and diplomatic.   
  
“This isn’t forever,” Shiro promises, when he catches Ryou on the bridge and tells him his decision. “Just until we figure out what happened the other night.”   
  
Ryou stares at him. It’s as though it takes a second for Shiro’s words to really hit him, but when they finally do, his expression changes to something carefully, forcibly neutral. Shiro knows that face—he uses it himself when he’s trying to hide his _real_ reaction. “Oh. I see. I…suppose that makes sense. I mean, after missing that last motivational event…”  
  
Shiro’s heart pangs a little at that. “You didn’t miss any event, Ryou. There wasn’t one. It was just a party.”   
  
Ryou blinks at him, but then realization dawns on his face. “Oh. Right. Right, I didn’t…” This time he can’t quite hide behind the perfectly neutral mask, and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment in frustration.  
  
“It’s okay,” Shiro reassures, although he’s not sure it is. “It’s fine, you’re probably just a little tired. I mean, you’ve been doing a lot for the Voltron coalition. Not just active combat missions with us, but all the other things. Mission control. All the planet-side events. It’s a lot to manage.”   
  
“It needs to be done,” Ryou says with a shrug, in a tone that’s far more ‘Shiro’ than it probably should be.  
  
“True, but it doesn’t all have to be done by you,” Shiro says. “You know you don’t have anything to prove, right? I keep telling you that. You’re a part of the team. You’re fine. You don’t have to push yourself this hard. It might be taking its toll on you.”   
  
“You managed,” Ryou says.  
  
Shiro shrugs. “I wasn’t doing this much before I disappeared,” he says. “There wasn't a coalition, it was just us and a few allied planets. Voltron was my only focus. Now there’s so much to take on—one person can’t do all of it. Take a step back. Don’t put so much stress on yourself.”   
  
Ryou sighs. “No leaving the ship at all? For how long?”  
  
“Until we know for sure what happened,” Shiro says. “I know it’s rough, but…look, we got lucky this time, Ryou. You…got lost…but it was on a friendly planet under our control. I was worried, but the danger was relatively low. If this happens on a Galra-controlled planet or ship next time, though…I can’t guarantee that we can protect you if you get lost.”  
  
Ryou’s expression is dejected for just a fraction of a second before he covers it with the mask again. “I know. I understand. It’s…it’s the same call I would make. Obviously.” His smile is weak at best. “It’s the right choice. I just…I’m not a reliable unit right now. I get it.”   
  
Shiro frowns at that. “It’s not like that. And there are plenty of ways you can still help around the ship. I just want to make sure you’re still _safe_ while that happens.”   
  
“I understand,” Ryou repeats. “Maybe a break will clear everything up. Maybe it’s just a nervous breakdown.” He shrugs. “Not even your first, right?”   
  
Normally Shiro would welcome the weak attempt at humor, however dark. But Ryou looks at the floor when he speaks, and still seems uneasy with the arrangement.   
  
That bothers Shiro. “It will be fine,” he promises. “Everything will be fine, we just need a little time to figure it all out.”  
  
Ryou doesn’t say anything, but the look he gives Shiro says enough. He knows Shiro’s bending the truth. They know each other too well to lie to the other.   
  
Everything’s not fine. Everything gets worse.   
  
Ryou is no longer on diplomatic events and melee combat missions, but Voltron still needs a voice among the people, and the face they’re most familiar with is Shiro’s. Shiro is the only one with the same level of skill as Ryou when it comes to stirring hearts and minds and encouraging people to fight for what they believe in, and he ends up taking on a great deal of that workload.   
  
He starts rotating with Keith in the Black Lion. sometimes he’ll lead Voltron directly and other times Keith will, while Shiro takes on other tasks and works with the coalition prospects. It’s difficult trying to manage the workload of both Voltron and the coalition. Shiro hadn’t been lying to Ryou when he’d said it hadn’t been an issue before, because it was an issue that simply didn’t exist before Ryou. And although Keith’s not thrilled at the prospect of playing leader again with Shiro back, he understands that one person alone can’t do all of it.  
  
But despite taking on more stress and heavier workloads for himself to take it off of Ryou, it doesn’t seem to help Ryou at all. The strange moments still continue to happen, more often and more obviously. He forgets things more often—little things, simple things, like the names of the planets and races they’re dealing with, or the time conversion for space units like vargas and doboshes. His coordination worsens; he stumbles when walking and fumbles with pens or holopads or tools more often. He never complains about it, but Shiro knows his own tells enough to know Ryou is starting to feel nauseated or dizzy more often than he should.   
  
Despite being officially confined to the ship, and despite his unusual ailments, Ryou still tries to contribute to the mission any way he can, just as Shiro had promised he could. But as more quintents pass, it becomes clear that this, too, is a newfound source of difficulty for Ryou. He tries to help Coran in the bridge to coordinate coalition movements and be another set of eyes in the sky for Voltron. But he develops an increasing tendency to take longer to perform tasks he used to do immediately. He struggles with following even standard procedures. He gets confused over which steps he’s on. On at least two frightening occasions, he forgets what he’s working on halfway.   
  
The middle of a high-stakes battle is no time for a coordinator to lose track of their job, not when split-second response time is critical. Eventually Shiro is forced to move him off of that job, too.   
  
He does so as gently as he can, and Coran takes pity on Ryou and tries to find other ways for him to help, but Ryou isn’t stupid. He knows he’s being pitied over his failings, and he knows he’s causing more harm than help if he stays on the task.  
  
“I don’t want anyone to get hurt because I can’t keep up,” he tells Shiro quietly, when Shiro takes him off of battle coordination tasks. “I couldn’t live with myself if I got anyone killed because I’m not a reliable combat unit anymore, either.”  
  
Shiro feels gutted at that response. It’s necessary, and they both know it. Shiro _can’t_ leave him on the missions when Ryou is showing an increasing tendency to forget those missions halfway through them. But it still hurts Shiro to see Ryou so stoically accept the order when he knows it’s killing him inside. He’s heard the stories from the rest of the team, about how much it hurt Ryou to sit back and listen to them being attackee without being able to contribute, back when the Black Lion hadn’t accepted him. Stepping down is akin to a knife in the heart, but Ryou is still doing it, because it has to be done and he’s still a Shiro at his core.   
  
He gets worse, too. Ryou tries to keep up his combat skills, using the training room on the lowest settings to try and burn off frustrations and stay in shape. But he struggles with proper combat coordination now, and often misjudges the distances of the training Gladiators or his own attacks. After a disastrous training attempt that ends with Ryou’s left shoulder dislocated, due to badly underestimating how close his opponent was, Shiro is forced to ban him from the training deck too before he gets himself killed. Ryou accepts the latest ruling with tired resignation and full acknowledgement that it’s the right call. But Shiro can’t help but feel like he’s gutting his clone of anything and everything that makes him, well, _him._   
  
Still the scariest by far—even over the injuries from the Gladiators—is the wandering.   
  
In the two spicolian movements after the original incident on Chersha, Ryou disappears on them three more times. He’s confined to the Castle, and never manages to leave it, but even so the Castle is enormous and there are hundreds of places he could get lost in. They only manage to find him at all when Coran searches the Castle surveillance and Allura recruits the mice for their assistance, but there’s never any pattern to his disappearances. He never goes to the same place twice, and doesn’t even seem to recognize his surroundings as an Altean ship. He’s confused, when they find him—insisting that he needs to get to class, or the debriefing for the Kerberos mission, or that he’s late for another motivational event.   
  
It’s alarming and frightening to see him so disoriented. The team can usually coax him back into awareness with a little effort, at least, or lead him back to the main areas on the ship with a little convincing. Ryou always seems embarrassed over his confusion afterwards.  
  
After the fourth time, when he wanders perilously close to the generator room—and its massive arcs of deadly electrical energy—the team starts subtly taking turns keeping an eye on him at all times. Even in the confinement of the ship, the Castle has a number of dangerous places, and none of them want Ryou to accidentally hurt himself when he doesn’t really know where he is. It’s often Coran when they’re on missions, but Allura, Keith, Lance, Hunk, Pidge and Matt all take turns at it as well, and Shiro helps whenever he can spare time between his now _many_ duties. When Ryou does try to leave, they can usually pull him back fairly quickly and talk to him, trying to coax him out of his confusion until he recognizes where and when he is again.   
  
When Ryou is more aware—still often enough still, despite his more frequent lapses—he seems to understand why he always has at least one team member present. He’s embarrassed by it, despite numerous assurances by everyone that it isn’t what he thinks, but never once protests.  
  
For himself, anyway. “I’m sorry I’m becoming such a burden,” he says one day to Shiro, out of the blue, in the middle of relaxing in the lounge and watching a movie on a holo-screen.  
  
“You’re not,” Shiro tells him immediately.  
  
Ryou gives him a flat look. “I’m not pulling my weight,” he states, with the same reasonable, factual tone Shiro uses during his debriefings. “I no longer contribute to anything on the ship anymore. The busywork Coran gives me doesn’t count. At least one person’s time is always wasted baby-sitting me because I can’t even keep track of myself anymore. You’ve taken on nearly all of my duties in addition to yours—and you _are_ handling it without memory lapses and getting lost.”   
  
“That doesn’t mean you’re a burden,” Shiro says, more sharply than intended. “Just a couple months ago I couldn’t even walk without help. I wasn’t contributing anything then, either, but you and everyone else didn’t mind helping me.”  
  
“You were getting better,” Ryou points out. “There was a payoff. Eventually you’d be able to take on roles again.”  
  
The _I’m not_ is unspoken but hangs in the air painfully, silent but sharply obvious to the both of them.   
  
And the thing is, he’s not entirely wrong. They’ve been trying to help Ryou get better, but so far they haven’t made any progress…because they’re still not sure what’s wrong. He’s not physically ill as far as they can tell. The cryo-pods don’t really help, despite using them to treat him multiple times. He’ll be more consistently aware for a little while after a session in the pod, sure. But whatever is wrong in his head creeps right back in under a quintent, and they’ve been noticing the length of time it lasts getting shorter and shorter. It’s clear it’s only treating a symptom, not a cause, but they simply can’t find the cause.   
  
But Shiro refuses to give in so easily as that. “We just don’t have an answer yet,” he says. “That doesn’t mean you can’t get better. It took you weeks to figure out how to get me out of the dream-cage, right? We’ll figure it out.”   
  
Ryou doesn’t look like he believes it, but he stops arguing. Shiro has a feeling it’s more because he’s getting visibly frustrated with the conversation than because any actual conclusion came of it.   
  
_I wasn’t lying,_ he tells himself fiercely. _We’re going to find a way to help him. I’m going to figure out a way to make him better._   
  
But they don’t find it, and Ryou doesn’t get better. Over the next two spicolian movements, despite all their best efforts, Ryou struggles more than he ever did. He starts dropping weight at an alarming rate, growing thinner and bonier as the quintents pass. His Galra arm eventually appears almost comically oversized, scaled as it is to match a muscular Shirogane build, although there’s nothing comical about the situation. Hunk and Coran work hard to prepare a new meal plan for him full of nutritional supplements, but no matter what they try, they can’t seem to put any much-needed weight back on him. Ryou’s appetite dwindles just as much as his muscles, and even when he is hungry he can barely keep anything down.   
  
“I’m sorry,” Ryou murmurs quietly, the third time he throws up one of Hunk’s concoctions almost as soon as he tries to eat it. His face is ashen, touched slightly with the flushed red of absolute mortification.   
  
Shiro feels for him. He hates feeling weak and pathetic. He knows Ryou still does, too.  
  
“It’s fine, it’s fine!” Hunk assures with forced cheer. He cleans up the mess while Shiro helps his clone sit down in one of the dining chairs, supporting him carefully under the left arm. Ryou winces when it jars his prosthetic, despite how careful Shiro’s being. “That must’ve been too heavy for your stomach, that’s all. I shouldn’t have added to cullix powder. I’ll figure something out for you, promise.”   
  
Ryou groans at even the thought of trying to consume something. “Give it a varga,” Shiro says to the both of them. Ryou gives him a grateful look. Hunk looks ready to protest, but one look at the ashen color of Ryou’s face makes him change his mind, and he nods.   
  
He keeps Hunk’s next meal down, but only barely, and only manages maybe ten bites before he can’t go further.   
  
The loss of weight and muscle leads to other changes. Movement is more of a struggle for him now, and he can only manage physical activity in short bursts without completely exhausting himself. He stops training at all, even solo exercises and basic forms, simply because he can’t keep it up anymore. He still helps with chores around the Castle, when he can, but Coran cuts back his workload by at least three quarters so he doesn’t over-exert himself—and even then, by the end he’s exhausted. He struggles with his prosthetic more, which is causing him more pain to use, even if he insists he’s fine whenever Shiro asks. His wandering slows, but mostly because he physically can’t get far. Even then, he still becomes distressed about needing to be somewhere else, until they can coax him back to reality. His skin grows paler, until eventually his veins stand out alarmingly on his skin.   
  
He returns to Shiro’s long-sleeved outfits then, flustered by the way his illness stands out like a bright map on his skin. Even then, the clothes hang wrong on him, only emphasizing how much thinner he’s gotten.  
  
Shiro hates to see it happen, because it’s like watching Ryou take a step back. He’d been getting so close to figuring out who he was. Now he’s just… _hiding_ again, slipping back further into Shiro’s personality, actions, and tastes.  Still, he doesn’t protest when Ryou appropriates a few of his shirts, because he _knows_ that feeling, and he can’t blame Ryou for it at all.   
  
Unfortunately, not all of Ryou’s ailments are physical, nor are they so easily covered up. He struggles with even standard procedures now—following basic steps, remembering rules to games, completing even the minor pity tasks Coran gives him.   
  
“He forgot to dry the laundry Coran assigned him,” Lance reports to Shiro grimly, once he’s off his ‘Ryou-watch’ shift. “I had to catch him before he tried folding up a bunch of damp clothes to bring back…”   
  
“I was letting him help me in the kitchen, y’know, since it seems to make him a little calmer at least,” Hunk tells Shiro the next day. “I measured all the ingredients out in cups for him in advance. He just sort of moved everything around like he was working on something, but he forgot to actually mix it…” Hunk bites his lip.   
  
“He lost his holopad,” Keith tells Shiro bluntly. “On the couch. He put it down and moved to get something else and just couldn’t figure out where he put it. He couldn’t even figure out how to retrace his steps to get back to it, or come up with a plan to find it again.” He regards Shiro like he’s never seen him before, and Shiro knows Keith is alarmed that something like this could happen to someone who looks and acts just like him.  
  
“He accidentally activated the attack function in his Galra hand,” Allura reports, disturbed. “He didn’t understand what had happened. He burned a hole in the couch cushions, and I had to stop him before he accidentally burned himself as well. I had to walk him through an Altean breathing exercise before he calmed down enough that the arm deactivated on its own.”   
  
“He called me Matt,” Pidge says softly.   
  
It’s two quintents later, and Shiro feels his heart ice over at that. “Matt was with you, wasn’t he?” he asks, after a moment.   
  
“Yeah. We were both hanging out with him in the lounge. It was Matt’s turn but I wanted to get his opinion on a program I’d written and figured I’d stay for a bit. He couldn’t tell the difference. Even when we pointed it out.” Pidge swallows. “He’s…he’s getting worse, isn’t he?”  
  
Shiro wants to deny it, but Pidge isn’t stupid, and she won’t appreciate him lying. “Yes,” he admits. “But we’re still searching. We’re going to figure out what’s wrong. We’ll take care of him.”   
  
Pidge doesn’t look entirely convinced, but nods after a moment in agreement. “Right,” she says. “Right. Yeah. We’ll do it. I…I think I’ll help Coran look at the data from Ryou’s last pod stay. Maybe I can…figure out where the disconnect is.”   
  
“That sounds like a great idea,” Shiro agrees.   
  
He’s not sure that she’ll spot any miracle solution, but he’ll take anything he can get at this point. Ryou’s in the pods often enough that they have a wide sample of data to work with. He’s placed in at least two to three times per spicolian movement now, for several vargas at a time. Like before, his mind is a little clearer when he leaves them, and it heals any minor scrapes or bruises he’s earned from his stumbling.   
  
But it can’t heal his weight loss, and his mind never stays clear for long. And the more times he goes in, the more shaky and uncomfortable with them Ryou seems to get, although Shiro’s not sure if anyone else catches it other than maybe Keith. Ryou suffers the pods because he understands logically they will heal him, for a short time, but he’s not any more comfortable with his repeat stays than Shiro is.   
  
Shiro understands. He hates the pods, himself—the way they feel cloistering and restrictive, like he’s being imprisoned again. They’re necessary, but he tries not to push Ryou into them more often than is needed.  
  
The numerous stays should give Pidge enough data to work with though. The pod scans the body when healing, and there must be some commonality between each healing that can pinpoint what’s wrong with Ryou.   
  
Because they still aren’t certain. They have no idea what’s causing this, other than the growing realization that whatever it is, it has to do with Ryou’s status as a clone. Shiro hasn’t felt or displayed any of the same symptoms, and they are otherwise as identical as it’s possible to get. If it was a bug Ryou had caught, Shiro ought to have gotten it by now too, and if it was something genetic, Shiro should also be displaying it. The only difference left between them is their origin.   
  
_But it doesn’t matter where he came from,_ Shiro tells himself firmly. _I don’t care if he is a clone of me. He’s not me anymore. He’s_ Ryou, _and he doesn’t deserve this. We_ will _find a way to fix him._   
  
He can only hope he’s not lying to himself.

* * *

  
  
About a month and a half after the Chersha incident, Shiro finally makes a call he’d been hoping to avoid.   
  
By now, Ryou is in a terrible state. He’s very thin and bony, extremely pale, and there are deep, dark circles under his eyes. He squints at anyone when they speak to him, like he has a hard time seeing them, and when he speaks his voice is soft and weak. Movement is exhausting for him, and frequently painful as well, which is why Coran finally takes him off of chore duties at all.    
  
But it’s the obvious pain that Ryou displays when moving now that finally drives Shiro to act.   
  
The way Ryou carries himself when moving, it’s clear he’s hurting. When Shiro presses, he grudgingly admits that his hips and shoulders bother him a lot more than they did before. That’s unfortunate enough as it is, but it also means he’s overcompensating for his prosthetic now, which aggravates his right shoulder in addition to being just too heavy to wear comfortably. He almost always winces or hisses when he’s required to move it at all, and it’s huge on Ryou’s now too-thin frame, even more unnatural than before. And he certainly can’t be sleeping well with it, either; Shiro knows how sensitive his own right arm can get, and laying down the wrong way or shifting even slightly at night will be uncomfortable at best and agonizing at worst.  
  
After watching Ryou struggle with it again that morning during breakfast, Shiro finally decides it’s time to take action. He’s taking his turn with Ryou in the lounge—where his clone has spent more and more time of late, closer to people but still relatively restful—and makes sure he has Ryou’s full focus before speaking.   
  
“I think we need to remove the Galra arm,” Shiro says, as gently as he can. He gestures to the metal arm settled loosely in Ryou’s lap.   
  
Ryou stares at him for a long moment, uncomprehending. Shiro’s afraid his clone’s mind may have wandered again, and that perhaps he hadn’t understood what Shiro had said. But after a moment Ryou blinks, and stares down at his prosthetic in his lap. He flexes the fingers slowly. It works, as long as he doesn’t have to move the rest of the arm itself.   
  
“Why?” Ryou asks after a moment, voice soft. “It’s not doing any of this.”   
  
“No, it isn’t,” Shiro agrees. “Not directly, anyway.” Because they’d checked—it had been one of the first things they _had_ checked, when it became clear this was more than overwork on Ryou’s part, or some kind of mental breakdown. Coran, Allura, Pidge, Hunk, and Matt had all been _very_ thorough in examining the arm’s components, but they hadn’t found anything that could be causing this illness in Ryou. In every way, shape and form, it was identical to Shiro’s own Galra arm.   
  
“But it is hurting you indirectly,” Shiro continues. “It’s too heavy for you now. It’s putting too much strain on your body, and I _know_ it’s causing you unnecessary pain every time you move it, especially in your shoulders. It was bad enough with my muscle atrophy a few months back. I struggled with that. But your condition…it’s…”  
  
He tries to think of a tactful way to put it, but Ryou interrupts him before he can. “It’s even worse,” he says, in his soft, weakened voice. “Yeah. I get it.”   
  
He looks exhausted, but more than that, he looks helpless and dejected, yet ultimately resigned to his fate.   
  
Shiro’s heart goes out to him. He understands Ryou’s hesitation. Even though Shiro hates the way the Galra had stolen his real arm away from him, his prosthetic is still a useful tool. More importantly, it provides him some degree of independence. To lose it would be frustrating. For _Ryou_ to lose it, when he already has so little independence anymore…it’s a frightening thought. That was why Shiro had tried to hold off on this decision for as long as possible, even though Ryou’s prosthetic had been causing him pain more frequently for days now.   
  
But he can’t hold off any longer. Ryou is hurting constantly now, and he already has so many other things to deal with. Not only that, but wasting valuable energy and nutrients that he can barely manage to gain to begin with on maintaining the prosthetic is only hurting him in the long run. He shouldn’t have to deal with it, and he can hardly afford to, either.  
  
Still, Shiro does what he can to reassure his clone. “It’s not permanent,” he says, as gently as he can manage. “This is just to take unnecessary stress off of you. You’re in a lot of pain—don’t think I haven’t seen it—and it’s too difficult for you to move with it on.”  
  
Ryou says nothing; just continues to stare down at his metal palm.   
  
“It won’t be forever,” Shiro promises. “Everyone will help you out if you need anything. We’ll have a better one built after you’re healed. I’ll personally review the setup and installation in advance, to make sure it’s nothing like…like the last time. It won’t be so bad this time.”   
  
Ryou shrugs, and winces immediately in regret when it pulls at his metal arm and aggravates his shoulders. “Not even my memories…right?”  
  
Shiro frowns. “They feel real to you, don’t they? And you have to be stuck with them. You shouldn’t have to go through it again. And you won’t.”   
  
Ryou’s still not looking up at Shiro, but everything about him still seems painfully resigned to the decision, no matter how reluctant he clearly is. “It’s your call. Probably the right call. We’re…supposed to think the same, right?”   
  
Shiro’s frown grows deeper, and he sits down next to Ryou on the couch. “It’s not about ‘supposed to,’” he says. “What does _Ryou_ want?”   
  
Ryou is silent for a long moment, and Shiro wonders if he heard the question, or even understood it. If he leans forward slightly he can just make out the frown of confusion on Ryou’s face as his clone continues to stare down at his metal palm.   
  
But he does eventually answer. His voice is slow and hesitant, and so tired sounding, but it’s an answer all the same. “I want…to stop hurting.”  
  
“Okay. Okay, we can do that,” Shiro says, nodding in agreement. “I’ll talk to Coran about removing it. I’m sure you’ll feel a little better with it gone. And then we can focus harder on fixing the rest of you, so that stops hurting, too.”   
  
Ryou doesn’t answer. Shiro leans over to nudge him gently in the left arm with his right, soft enough that he doesn’t jar his clone too far and cause him further pain. “Hey. It’s going to be okay. We’re going to figure this out. You’ll be okay.”   
  
“Sure,” Ryou agrees softly. But it doesn’t sound like his heart is in the answer.   
  
That’s fine. For now, Shiro will just have to believe hard enough for the both of them.   
  
They remove the arm the next quintent, once Coran has time to prepare. Matt and Pidge assist him with the surgery. Ryou balks at sedation initially—and Shiro, with the same memories, knows exactly why. But he stays with his clone during the sedation until Ryou is fully under, and that keeps him calm enough that it goes smoothly afterwards. After all, Shiro would never permit any of the things in their shared memories to happen the way they did.  
  
The arm is difficult to remove, according to Pidge, once the procedure is done. Fully grafted to muscle and bone and fully intended to be permanent, it’s tricky business getting it off, and there’s no way the same arm will ever go on smoothly again. The remains of Ryou’s right arm are heavily bandaged, and are likely to have extreme scarring from the wounds inflicted by the prosthetic. Shiro is glad he has it off at least, although it makes him sick to his stomach to think the same vicious grafting still exists on him. His own wound throbs in sympathy for the entire rest of the quintent.   
  
But for all that, when it’s off, Ryou does seem to have a marginally easier time moving. He’s sore after the surgery, but one of his cryo-pod trips fixes the worst of it fairly quickly. He doesn’t strain himself as badly compensating for a too-heavy limb, and admits that the soreness in his shoulders and back has also greatly reduced. He sleeps better without having to constantly monitor his position for fear of jarring the fake limb, although only moderately.  
  
It’s the only improvement he sees.   
  
Removing the prosthetic doesn’t help him regain any weight; he loses two more pounds, and is frighteningly thin. His remaining wrist is jutting and bony, and his cheekbones become more pronounced, to the point that he barely resembles Shiro anymore. His appetite, while low before, is all but gone now. Hunk is forced to put him on an all-liquid diet because his stomach can’t handle solids anymore, and even then Ryou barely manages to keep any of it down. His vision worsens to the point that he can barely see five feet in front of him now, and he relies on muscle memory or (more often, when that fails him) a guide to get him from one place to the other on the ship. Even that is tricky, since walking is difficult for him now even without the prosthetic, and even the trip from his quarters to the dining room is enough to leave him physically exhausted and completely winded.   
  
And his mind is worse. He struggles more and more to stay aware and in the present, and his attempts to wander increase, although he can never make it far before he exhausts himself. He still tries to go to perceived missions, or to attend Garrison briefings. In one notable incident, he completely panics when he realizes he’s missed Keith’s birthday, and frets continuously over doing so. Keith’s birthday had been almost six months ago. But Ryou won’t be convinced of it until Keith himself is called down to assure Ryou that everything is fine and that he really didn’t miss any birthdays—he promises—and only then does Ryou’s distress finally fade.   
  
Six quintents after the surgery, he forgets Lance’s name. He forgets who Lance is at all. He bemusedly regards Lance as a Garrison cadet, which isn’t entirely wrong, but can’t remember who he is or how he knows him. Later that same day, he loses Hunk, too. And Allura. And Coran.   
  
They try not to show how hurt they are by that. They all know it’s not Ryou’s fault, after all. He’s not doing it on purpose; something is _wrong_ in his head. But even if they disguise that well enough, none of them can hide the raw worry they have for their newest team mate. They’re scared for him. Ryou’s right in front of them, but farther away than he’s ever been.   
  
The quintent after that, he loses his own name. Sometimes, at least. Matt reports trying to get his attention, but he hadn’t responded to ‘Ryou’ at all. He did, however, respond to the name ‘Shiro’ for the duration of Matt’s watch.   
  
Shiro feels like a part of him dies, when Matt shakily reports the latest development. Ryou’s name had been the first thing he’d chosen for himself, and now he’s losing it. It feels _wrong_ , more wrong than anything else that’s happened.  
  
They reshuffle their tactics. Ryou needs constant supervision now more than ever, but he will ignore or even become distressed by Lance, Hunk, Coran or Allura these days if he doesn’t recognize them—which is most of the time, unless they’re incredibly lucky. They only take supervision duties if it’s an absolute emergency now. Hunk and Coran redouble their research efforts, and Allura and Lance pitch in with as many other chores and duties around the ship as possible to cover for Coran’s absence.   
  
Ryou does better with Keith, and Keith does the best he can trying to help, although he admits never really sure what to do to assist. In his condition, Ryou usually thinks he’s Shiro and treats Keith accordingly, and Keith’s never quite sure how to react to that. Ryou also has maybe a fifty-fifty chance of identifying Matt and Pidge—although usually he’ll identify the both of them as Matt. It’s distressing, but at least it means he’ll _listen_ to Pidge if she tries to convince him he doesn’t have a Garrison class to attend, even if he thinks she’s someone else. He’s at least safe with them, and most of them are able to reassure him if he gets confused or anxious.   
  
But of all of them, he does best with Shiro. Shiro’s not really sure why. Maybe it’s because they share DNA, and shared thought-space during Shiro’s capture in the dream-cage. Maybe it’s just Shiro’s own natural inclination to get people to focus around him. Maybe Ryou finds it a little easier to focus on reality when his own face is staring back at him—something that he’ll never see in any of the memories he slips into.   
  
Whatever the case, Ryou is more often still recognizably himself when Shiro is with him, and Shiro adjusts the team’s schedules to accommodate that. He starts taking the majority of the supervision shifts for himself, switching out with Matt, Keith or Pidge only when he needs a break or a few hours’ sleep.   
  
After the first few sleepless quintents on the new schedule, he catches himself wondering _why_ he’s doing this. Why expend all this effort for Ryou? Why cut down on his time with team Voltron and the coalition, to constantly supervise a delusional, severely ill clone he didn’t ask for? It isn’t as though it’s entertaining. It’s sad and frustrating and disturbing, to watch this person who is a perfect mirror image of himself in both mind and body, falling apart inside and out. It’s exhausting, when Ryou has one of his episodes, and doesn’t understand where or when or who he is. It’s frightening, to think that it takes so little for any sense of self to disappear. It’s terrifying to think this could happen to him, too.  
  
He’s only known Ryou for a few months. Ryou is only a copy of him, not someone else. It shouldn’t hurt this badly to watch him fall.  
  
But he detests himself when he catches those ugly, tired thoughts in his head, and he never, ever voices them. It’s just his own fatigue and frustration showing. He’s still not really sure what Ryou means to _him,_ and he’s still not entirely sure what they are to each other apart from ‘genetic predecessor’ and ‘exact biological copy.’ He doesn’t have a lot of memories yet with Ryou, and Ryou had barely started to figure himself out. But damn it, he’d been _trying_. He’d been trying to stick it through and figure out who he was, and rise above his own grisly origins to be something of his own making, and that was something to admire.  
  
So maybe he can’t put his finger on the exact reason he’s giving up his leadership and his direct involvement in his own mission to help his clone. For now, he just knows that despite their odd, unidentified relationship, he’s becoming strangely protective of Ryou’s second chance. It’s painful to watch Ryou suffer like this, but if it helps Ryou stay himself—really _himself_ —then it’s worth it.  
  
What’s surprising is that Ryou voices Shiro’s own darker thoughts himself, during one of his moments when he’s more aware.  
  
“Don’t you have missions?” Ryou asks, frowning. He’s in bed now—he’s been bedridden more often these days, now that his hips bother him too much to really manage walking—sitting up with a a small hoard of pillows surrounding him to keep him upright. His voice is hoarse and weak, and softer than before, like he’s losing it. “You’ve been here a lot…right?”  
  
He sounds so hesitant, so unsure, that it breaks Shiro’s heart a little to hear. Ryou had Shiro’s confidence, once—or at least his ability to sound confident even when he wasn’t really sure what he was doing. But in the rarer times when Ryou is completely lucid now, he’s also aware enough to know he’s been getting worse, and that his memory has been faulty. He struggles to differentiate his delusions from reality. It’s frightening, for both of them.  
  
“You’re right,” Shiro agrees, “I have been here more often. Don’t worry about the missions. Everything is taken care of.”   
  
Ryou frowns. “You can’t…The team _needs_ you. I can’t stop you from doing your job. That’s not…”  
  
“My job is to look out for _everyone_ on the team,” Shiro says. “That includes you. Everyone wants to make sure you’re okay, too.”   
  
Ryou stares at him. He doesn’t seem convinced.   
  
“Everything is fine,” Shiro promises. And since that wouldn’t be enough for himself, either, he sketches out a rough plan of action. “The others are helping too. Keith’s flying the Black Lion for now. The team all agreed to it, and Keith is a competent leader. Allura’s been taking on more of the diplomatic missions, and Matt has been coordinating with the rebels for us for additional combat assistance where needed. And if anything does go really wrong and they need me, I’m on comm, and Coran knows where I’m at. Everything is fine.”   
  
Ryou continues to stare. Shiro suspects he only picked up maybe half of the details, but enough at least to know Shiro’s not worried. “They’re safe?”  
  
“They’re safe,” Shiro confirms. “And for now, they don’t need me. _You_ do.”   
  
Ryou presses his lips together. After a moment he whispers, “Thank you.”   
  
“You don’t need to thank me,” Shiro says. “But you can pick the next round of entertainment. Pidge outfitted us with about a thousand different movies and digital books, and Lance made us some playing cards—they’re bigger, you should be able to see them better. So? What’ll it be?”  
  
Ryou glances at the holoscreen, and the deck on the bed-table that he can use while still in his bunk, where it hovers over his knees. The choices seem overwhelming to him, and he eventually glances at Shiro uneasily. “You pick. I’d probably like it anyway…right?”  
  
Again so hesitant, so unsure. Shiro frowns. “That doesn’t mean you have to let me choose. This is about what you want. What does _Ryou_ want?”  
  
Ryou stares at him blankly, eyes full of confusion.  
  
Shiro feels his heart pang uncomfortably in his chest at the look. And they’d been making so much progress…”What is Shiro interested in?” he asks, barely masking his sudden exhaustion with a neutral expression through sheer force of will. The feeling gets worse when Ryou reacts this time, but to the wrong name.   
  
Ryou chooses a movie eventually. Shiro is not even remotely surprised to find that it’s one of his own favorites. Somehow it’s much less enjoyable in these circumstances.   
  
That’s how they spend most of their time to pass the quintents. The team handles missions, and checks in with Shiro periodically on their progress. Coran feverishly studies Ryou’s latest cryo-pod scans and struggles to find a cure for his strange illness. And Shiro stays at his clone’s bedside and keeps him company. They watch movies. They play games. They read books. They chat. When Hunk stops by for meals, the two of them eat together, and when others that Ryou recognizes visit, they include them in the fun.  
  
Some quintents are good. Sometimes Ryou’s mind is razor-sharp and equal to Shiro’s own. On those days despite his physically frail and aching body, blurred vision, and hoarse voice, he can still make cutting commentary on films, and remember enough steps in advance to plot clever strategies in card games. He brings up memories—before Kerberos, before the Garrison—and they laugh over stupid family holidays and embarrassing school stories. He still remembers his own name that he gave himself. He still remembers how to make his own decisions.  
  
But those days are rare. More often now, Ryou forgets how to read the words in the books, or can barely make out the symbols on the holoscreens. He fumbles with the cards with his one hand and drops them, or plays them face-up without realizing he’s giving away his hand, or forgets the rules to the games. He grows confused over the plots of the movies and forgets the characters’ names and motivations halfway through, or dozes off in the middle of them. He can’t even remember what he ate for breakfast or who brought it, much less an old memory from years ago.   
  
He struggles with even little things, like coordinating enough to get dressed. He needs help even making it from his bunk to the attached bathroom and back. He still has terrible nightmares, but they have no context for him anymore, and he’ll wake terrified of the monsters in his head hurting him for reasons he doesn’t understand.  
  
It’s painful to watch. To see Ryou withering right before his eyes, in heart and in body. It _hurts_ , in a way Shiro had never anticipated. Despite his resolve to help Ryou however he can, sometimes it’s too much, and he has to tap out for a break when he can’t watch Ryou fall any farther. He lets Matt or Keith or Pidge take over then—and when he returns, he can see how badly it hurts them, too.   
  
But he masks it for Ryou. Keeps his expression neutral and calm. Patiently walks him through the rules of even the simplest card games again and again, and pretends he doesn’t see the fumbled hands, or gently suggests possible strategies. Reads the books out loud from the holopad, when Ryou can’t make out the words. Reminds him about names and plots in the movies, until Ryou falls asleep in the middle of them.   
  
If there’s any advantage at all to the situation, it’s that Ryou can no longer tell, in those moments, when Shiro is lying.   
  
But even Ryou’s more lucid moments become more somber. One and a half spicolian movements later he’s nearly blind, and so weak he can’t leave his room anymore without assistance. He’s skin and bone, and his skin is practically translucent, and bruises at even the slightest touch. The scar on his face stands out like a dark, gaping wound. Shiro has to be careful not to use his Galra arm to touch him anymore, even to help him stand or walk, because he can’t gauge by touch the strength in his fingers, and Ryou wounds so easily. His coordination is almost non-existent, and in the moments when he is aware, he struggles to do anything on his own anymore.   
  
“Damn it,” Ryou whispers, as his jerking fingers knock the glass on his bedside table over. Shiro’s reflexes are lightning fast as he manages to catch it before too much spills, and he sets it out of the way so it’s not in danger of going over again. The rest of Ryou’s liquified dinner runs down the table, and Shiro ducks into the bathroom to grab an extra towel so he can mop up the remains.   
  
Ryou stares at his shaking, uncoordinated hand in frustration, and flushes with embarrassment as he drops it weakly into his lap. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, after a moment.   
  
“It’s fine,” Shiro says patiently. “You didn’t even spill all that much. No big deal.”  
  
“S’pathetic,” Ryou mumbles, still staring down at his lap. “Shouldn’t…be this way.”  
  
“Hey. Ryou,” Shiro says, pausing his cleaning long enough to look up at his clone on the bed. “Ryou,” he repeats, when his clone doesn’t meet his eyes. Ryou does look at him the second time, and Shiro conceals his relief that he responded to his own name today. “Listen. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re sick, that’s all. It happens to everyone.”  
  
“Not to Shiro, it doesn’t,” Ryou whispers, a touch bitterly.   
  
“Well,” Shiro says lightly, “it’s a good thing you’re not Shiro anymore, isn’t it?”   
  
He returns to cleaning, and nearly misses the way Ryou flinches at that. That makes him frown. He’d meant for that to be lighthearted; he’s not sure why he’d have earned _that_ reaction.   
  
But he doesn’t have the chance to pursue it further. Ryou looks uneasy, and that’s usually a precursor to a relapse, unless Shiro can calm him down and pull him on track again. “There’s still more in the glass,” he says, as he finishes wiping down the table and floor, and throws the towel in the laundry hamper. “Want to give it another try?”   
  
“No,” Ryou whispers.   
  
Shiro frowns. “You didn’t have breakfast this morning,” he wheedles. He’s aware of the hypocrisy of essentially telling himself he needs to eat more, with the amount of meals he skips out outright forgets, but _he’s_ not skin and bone. “C’mon. Try a little? It was made for you by H—to try and help you get better,” he amends hastily. Names he doesn’t recognize have a tendency to confuse Ryou, these days. “A few sips?”  
  
Ryou looks anything but happy about it, and eyes the glass light it might be poison, wrapping his remaining arm around his stomach. Shiro feels for him—but he also needs him to try and eat. Ryou must pick up on it, because after a moment, he nods. “Fine.”  
  
He’s too weak to actually lift the glass, in the end. Not without another spill. Shiro has to help him drink it. Ryou looks ashamed of his own weakness, no matter how many times Shiro tells him it isn’t.  
  
Quintents pass. The team runs more missions. Keith’s been putting a heavier focus on tracking down data with Ryou’s origins, after discussing tactics with Shiro. They’re trying to find the ship Ryou first escaped from, but it’s moved on, and locating it is difficult. Coran nearly tears out his mustache as he studies the medical screens and struggles to make sense of human biology and clone technology both. Shiro barely sleeps anymore, and when he does, half the time it’s on a pallet stretched out in Ryou’s room.   
  
Ryou gets worse.   
  
It’s quieter, now, the way he gets weaker. He spends most of his time dozing now, spending long hours of time stretched out asleep. He seems more comfortable that way—not aching or in pain, or struggling with understanding the things in his own head—so they let him rest. He needs it, desperately; he’s so weak now, it’s frightening. Shiro and the others will stay with him still, watching over him as he rests, in case he wakes and needs them. Shiro usually keeps his holopad on him at all times now, so he can review missions and analyze data to make the most of the quiet time while he can.  
  
But just as often, he finds himself keeping an eye on Ryou as he sleeps. Counting every wheezing, tired breath, listening to the ugly rattling in Ryou’s chest, watching it rise and fall to make sure it’s still working. Because as the quintents pass, Shiro starts to find himself more than a little terrified that Ryou will drift away in his sleep, and he’ll never get his second chance.  
  
But they still don’t have an answer. And as each tick clicks past, Shiro can’t shake the growing dread in his stomach that his fear is becoming a very real possibility.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my favorite chapter in this whole fic, and the scene at the end was the catalyst for the whole thing to be written. Enjoy :)

Four quintents later, Matt pokes his head into Ryou’s room after knocking gently. “Hey,” he says, “Coran’s calling a Team Voltron meeting for everyone. Says it’s important. Sounds like they need you.” He gestures to Shiro.  
  
Shiro looks up from his holopad, pausing in mid-sentence. He’s been spending the past varga or so reading to Ryou from the book they’ve been working through. Ryou is stretched out on the bed and propped up by a few pillows, elevated enough to help with his breathing. He’s only drowsily aware at best, and likely hasn’t been paying attention for half a varga at least. Shiro doesn’t think he’s really comprehending the stories at this point, but he likes the white noise of gentle speech and being able to hear that someone is sill there when he can’t see them anymore. It’s still a comfort, so Shiro will read for him until he falls asleep.   
  
Now he stirs a little at the new voice, and frowns slightly. “Need…?” he slurs in confusion.  
  
“Ah…not you,” Matt reassures hastily. “Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to disturb your rest.”  
  
“Wasn’t sleeping,” Ryou murmurs. His eyes flicker towards the new voice, even if he can’t see Matt anymore, and his brows pull together in confusion. He’s struggling to identify Matt’s voice, Shiro can tell, and that stings. Two quintents ago he’d finally lost Pidge, unable to reconcile her voice against his decaying memories of Matt’s. And now Matt was disappearing, too…he’s slipping farther too fast.  
  
Matt can tell the same, and sighs. A little softer, he murmurs to Shiro, “Coran said it’s important. I’m not actually Team Voltron, so I volunteered to swap out with you for a bit. Med bay.” He glances significantly at Ryou and back, and Shiro doesn’t need further explanation to know what the meeting’s about.   
  
“Okay. Thanks.” He stretches his stiff muscles as he stands; he’d been sitting for hours. Then he puts the holopad back on his chair, and crouches next to the bed to gently place his left hand over Ryou’s wrist. Ryou starts for a moment at the touch, but Shiro rubs the back of his wrist patiently with his thumb, and after a moment Ryou settles. “Hey. I’ve got to go for a little bit, okay? Matt’ll be here if you need anything at all. Is that okay?”  
  
Ryou’s sightless eyes flicker weakly towards Shiro, and he’s still wearing a deep frown of confusion. Shiro’s not entirely sure he understands the question. It’s been a bad day for him, mostly. But after a moment he nods, still a little confused. Shiro’s pretty sure it’s not a real answer—Ryou’s developed a tendency to agree with Shiro’s tones or requests whenever he doesn’t know how to answer, which is often.   
  
He sighs, but squeezes Ryou’s wrist—very gently, a ghostlike touch that won’t bruise him unnecessarily. “Thanks. I’ll be back soon, promise. Then we can read more of the book, if you want.”  
  
“Why wait for him?” Matt asks, with forced cheer. “I can read too, you know. I can pick up where you left off. Better than you, even.”   
  
Shiro raises an eyebrow as he finally lets go of Ryou’s wrist and stands. “Is that so?”   
  
“Sure.” Matt picks up the holopad and holds it over his heart in a salute to all books. “Why, when Pidge was younger I was the _best_ bedtime story reader, even better than dad and mom. I even do all the voices. Do _you_ do the voices, Shiro?”   
  
Shiro opens his mouth to retort, but before he can, Ryou beats him to the response. “Do the…voices?” he asks in confusion. “What voices…?”  
  
Any jovial attempts are dashed at that, and Matt is instantly sobered. “Just a joke, R—Shiro,” he says. His voice is neutral and calm, but his expression is pained, now that he doesn’t have to conceal it from Ryou anymore. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t have to do them. I can just read it. It’s okay.”   
  
Ryou still looks painfully lost, but hopefully the book will distract him from the mix-up. Shiro sighs again, and motions quietly at the door. Matt nods. “I’ll be back,” Shiro promises loudly for Ryou’s benefit, and lets himself out, closing the door quietly behind him with a snap.  
  
He knows the meeting must be urgent, if they’re calling Shiro away like this, but even so he lets himself take a little time to get there. He needs the solitude, for a few moments at least. He’s exhausted, emotionally and mentally more than physically. Spending the majority of his time with Ryou is…difficult.   
  
He doesn’t regret helping Ryou, of course. His clone needs Shiro badly when everything else is slipping away from him. At this point, Shiro is the only stable thing left in Ryou’s life that he remembers.  
  
But at the same time it’s hard to be there for so long. It’s disturbing to watch Ryou struggle with even simple things, like getting dressed or remembering his own name, when he used to be strong enough to pilot the Black Lion and stir the hearts and minds of thousands of refugees. It’s disturbing to watch him withering away in body and in mind both. And it’s frightening enough to see it on a team mate as it is.   
  
But to see this happening to someone who looks like his own reflection…it’s scary to watch _himself_ suffering like this, and know something like this could happen to him as well. He feels hurt or embarrassed or frustrated for Ryou in the moments Ryou isn’t capable of understanding or expressing it himself, because he _knows_ that’s how his clone would feel if he were fully aware. He sympathizes so strongly with this person who is him, but isn’t, too. He carries the helpless persistence of a caretaker who can only watch and assist with what they can, _and_ the internal hurt of his charge where they can’t, all while maintaining an outward facade of calmness and patience for Ryou’s sake. Struggling to balance both roles is exhausting. He needs a chance to breathe, a chance to compose himself.   
  
He walks slow, but even so he’s still at the med bay within ten doboshes. All of the others are there already. Coran has several holographic displays hovering in mid-air that he’s studying intently. Pidge and Hunk are nearby, occasionally pointing out something on the screens, only for the other to shake their head in frustration and murmur something back. Allura is off to one side, wearing her fancy dress and currently sweeping her hair up into her usual bun; she’d just returned from a diplomatic mission. Keith is even farther back from the displays, leaning against one of the pillars in the room with his arms folded across his chest, staring uncomfortably at the floor.  
  
Lance is closest to the door, and looks up in relief when Shiro walks in. “Shiro! We were waiting for you. How’s Ryou doing? Is he…uh, does he, y’know…”  
  
Shiro shakes his head mutely at Lance’s unspoken question, and Lance’s face falls a little. Ryou still doesn’t remember him, or Hunk, Allura or Coran, either, but Lance had been the first memory to go. Lance had never blamed Ryou for it—they all knew it wasn’t Ryou’s fault—but he had been upset when he had lost any way to help directly. Truth be told, so had Shiro, although he’d never voiced it. Lance had been good at getting Ryou to calm down when distressed, or at making his supervision shifts seem like he was just hanging out as a friend, rather than babysitting.   
  
“He’s….doing okay,” Shiro says, answering the first question more directly. Keith finally looks up from the floor, and frowns at that. Of all of them here, Keith is the only other one left who can interact enough with Ryou to know what ‘okay’ means. “It’s…it’s been a rough day. But he’s hanging in there.”   
  
He steps towards the screens hovering in front of Coran, Pidge and Hunk before anyone can ask further. He really doesn’t want to go into the details right now…about how Ryou hadn’t known his own name that morning, about how he’d been distraught about forgetting their grandfather’s Father’s Day gift, about how he’d been confused and frightened over why he didn’t have a right arm anymore. He doesn’t want to talk about it now, and probably not ever; Ryou had been too vulnerable and everything had been too personal for anyone to ever know.   
  
But it had hurt, even so.   
  
“What’s this meeting about?” he asks, studying the holoscreens. They look like readouts of Ryou’s cryo-pod data, although he hasn’t been in one for at least four or five quintents, now. At this point, he’s so weak that moving him is too stressful unless absolutely necessary, and the cryo-pods don’t make enough of a difference in his condition to make it worth it.   
  
“They wouldn’t say until you got here,” Lance says. “Did you guys find a cure?” He looks hopeful. Of all of them, Shiro knows Lance feels the most useless in their current setup. He wants to help, but there aren’t many places he can. Keith has taken over leadership for Shiro, Allura is taking care of the diplomacy, and Coran, Hunk and Pidge have all been working on the cure research, but Lance doesn’t have a niche to fill. He’s been pitching in where he can by cleaning and doing chores in Coran’s absence, and by playing second to Keith and watching his back while Shiro's been occupied, but it probably doesn’t feel as important to him as he’d like.   
  
“No,” Pidge says tiredly. She looks awful. There are deep, dark lines under her eyes, and Shiro wonders when the last time she’d slept was—probably not for some time.   
  
Coran does not look happy, lips pressed together in a thin line beneath his mustache, but he nods in agreement. “I’m afraid Pidge is correct,” he says solemnly, and Shiro knows he’s serious when he abandons the use of his playful ‘number five’ nickname. “We’ve been exhausting the limits of Altean medicinal technology, but so far we’ve found no solution to Ryou’s ailment, beyond conclusively determining it has to be due to his origin as a clone.”   
  
Shiro could have told them that, really. The fact that Ryou’s suffering and he isn’t seems enough to prove it. But he lets Coran continue, biting his tongue to keep from sharing as much. It's not Coran's fault they can't find an answer.  
  
“I’ve looked at Shiro’s bio-readings from the pods compared to Ryou’s,” Coran says, flicking his fingers to display two different screens of cryo-pod data. “Identical in every way, of course. I’ve been doing what I can to alter the pods to read human cell structure. I've compared that against Shiro’s recollections from his family history and Pidge’s instruction on human biology, but as far as I can tell, there’s nothing that stands out. It doesn’t look like it’s anything hereditary sped up by the cloning process. It’s not a virus or an infection, or the pod would have cured it. The arm has been removed, so of course it’s not responsible.” He looks deeply frustrated. “I don’t understand enough about human biology to look further, and Altean medicine is designed for stasis and promoting rapid healthy growth and cellular repair, not…whatever this is.”   
  
“I’m not much help either,” Hunk admits, fidgeting and uncomfortable. “I mean, I’m trying, but I’m an engineer. I make the things doctors use to look at people, I don’t do the actual looking at people.”  
  
“Same,” Pidge groans in frustration, rubbing her eyes. “And the scope of all of this doesn’t help. I’ve read about cloning back on Earth, and we’ve managed it there to some degree, but this…this is on another level entirely.”  
  
Shiro frowns as a sinking, cold knot begins to form in his stomach. “What do you mean?”  
  
“I mean, Ryou is a fully grown adult human that had to have been force-grown in less than a _year_ ,” Pidge says, with a combination of exhaustion and horrified fascination. “The best we’ve done on Earth is re-create the same animal, but it still has to grow the old-fashioned way, and it might not act the same as the original. Ryou could already walk, fight, and speak, things that take humans months if not years to master or re-master. That’s crazy enough scientifically as it is, to impart that kind of muscle memory to a body that’s never _had_ any.   
  
“But the attention to detail and level of technical skill necessary to craft an individual with your exact adult build?” Pidge continues. “Or your physical mannerisms—how you walk, pronounce things, fighting styles, that kind of stuff? That’s insane. And to import memories and personality into a new brain? It’s nearly impossible. It was nearly impossible even for the _Galra_. They had _dozens_ of failures just for one success with Ryou—we learned that much from what little we’ve been able to steal on research missions. There’s a _thousand_ different places that could go wrong, and we don’t have time to look at every one.”  
  
The cold knot in Shiro’s stomach grows at that. _Don’t have time…_ he knows what they mean, but he doesn’t want to admit to it. “Explain,” he says instead. His mouth feels dry when he speaks, and his voice is hoarse.  
  
Coran does not look happy, and worries his mustache for a moment before he flicks to another holo-screen. “I took the liberty of analyzing Ryou’s pod visits and calculating a projection of his health in the future, based on his current rate of…decline.”   
  
“And?” Shiro presses. His voice is barely a whisper.  
  
Coran swallows. “Based on the current trends in his health, I suspect that within two spicolian movements—perhaps closer to one and a half—Ryou will begin to sustain severe organ failure. Perhaps multiple organ failures simultaneously.”   
  
Everything goes still. Shiro feels numb as he processes the words, and the cold knot in his stomach expands to every part of his body.  
  
Severe organ failure. Coran may as well say death. Ryou’s dying, despite all their best efforts to prevent it. Even now he’s struggling—even now Shiro is so scared he’ll fall asleep and never wake up again—but in as little as a movement and a half, it will be guaranteed.   
  
It’s so little time. It’s not _enough_ time. Ryou’s _never_ had enough time. He’d been born for a purpose not his own and to live someone else’s life. He hadn’t been meant to live past Naxzela, and when he’d survived that, he’d never had the time to determine who _he_ wanted to be. And now this. He didn’t deserve this.   
  
It wasn’t fair.  
  
The others fully agree. The helplessness and horror on the team’s faces is enough to attest to that, but it’s Keith who speaks for all of them. “There has to be _something_ we can do,” he snaps, unfolding his arms from across his chest and stalking towards the group. “We can’t just let that happen!”   
  
If the situation weren’t so dire, Shiro would almost have laughed at Keith’s vicious defense of Ryou. The two had been cautious around each other at best, gradually learning to be team mates and acquaintances, but unable to really push past that after all the things that had happened when Ryou hadn’t known he was a clone. But Keith’s relative solidity in Ryou’s otherwise slipping memories had changed that, at least to some degree. Shiro doubted the two would ever have the connection he and Keith did. But Keith was one of the few people that Ryou still remembered (if barely now) and trusted, and Keith was one of the few people that had witnessed how badly Ryou had fallen but how hard he was still fighting. Keith had done what he could to help, and in the process, it seemed he’d grown at least a little protective of the clone in exchange for that respect and trust.   
  
“Surely we have not yet exhausted the limits of Altean medicine,” Allura agrees, also gliding forward to gather with the rest of the team. “The Castle of Lions had the most advanced medical technology ten thousand years ago…surely despite the passage of time it can save this life. It has save so many others.”   
  
“We’ve reached the limits of what it can handle based on the Altean approach to healing, that I know how to handle,” Coran says, shaking his head. “I’m no sage or alchemist, unfortunately. I’m a competent combat medic, and I’ve spent many years maintaining these pods and technology, but my medical knowledge is limited and largely based on Altean physiology and wound triage.”  
  
“What about magic?” Lance asks, a desperate edge to his hopeful question. “Maybe it’s magic doing this. Allura, you fixed the Balmera…could you, maybe…?”  
  
But Allura shakes her head, utterly defeated, and stares at the floor. “I am sorry,” she nearly whispers. “I could not even heal Shiro from the dream-cage, and that was a magical ailment. I tried to sense if Ryou was damaged from spells somehow, but if he is, it is too subtle for me to find and fix. And I do not possess the training to fix physical ailments…assuming I even knew what was wrong with him _to_ fix.”   
  
Lance’s shoulders slump. “Oh,” he says. “Then…then we can’t…”  
  
“Now, don’t fret!” Coran says, waving his hands at them to gain his attention. “As I said, we have exhausted the limits of _Altean_ technology based on the knowledge of an Altean _field-medic_. Although I am as loyal to Altea as any, I’m willing to admit that non-Altean resources might come in handy right about now.”   
  
Hunk’s eyes widen in realization. “The coalition!”   
  
“Right you are!” Coran says. “We’ve dozens of planets that have joined our cause, and several of them have many skilled medical professionals. As long as we’re careful with how we present the data, so as not to put Ryou in danger, there’s a strong chance we will be able to find what’s wrong—and once we do, perhaps a solution will become more readily obvious.”   
  
“But can any of them do it in one and a half movements?” Keith asks, voice sharp. “Because if they can’t, it doesn’t matter.”   
  
Coran hesitates. “Some of them are very good,” he offers weakly. “They could, perhaps—“  
  
Something clicks in Shiro’s brain, and suddenly the numbness filling him vanishes. The coldness spreading over his body recedes back to his stomach, a tight knot of anxiety and worry, but no longer overpowering. “Time,” he says. “That’s the key.”  
  
Everyone stares at him. “What do you mean?” Pidge asks.   
  
“It’s not about the cure,” Shiro says slowly. “It’s about the _time._ Coran, if we had an extended deadline—say, a decafeeb—how confident are you that the planets in the coalition could find the answer?”  
  
“Fairly confident,” Coran says, and he looks it. “The ashorii are known for their advanced medical techniques, and the komuuki are skilled at unusual but highly effective alternative medical treatments. Those would be our best bets to start, but there are surely other options as well.”   
  
“But Ryou doesn’t have a decafeeb,” Hunk points out hesitantly.   
  
“Not yet, he doesn’t,” Shiro says. “But I think Altea can help with that. Allura—ten thousand years ago, this technology was top line, right?”  
  
“Yes,” Allura says slowly, clearly wondering where Shiro is taking this.  
  
“Which you remember, but I bet you’ve barely aged since then,” Shiro says, “Even with ten thousand years gone by. Only a decafeeb at most, right? Since we found you, and Coran?”  
  
Allura’s eyes widen as she catches on to Shiro’s train of thought. “Precisely,” she agrees. “For us, it was as though time stopped. The sleep-chamber setting of the cryo-pod was not designed for healing, but for complete and total suspension and preservation.”   
  
“You…you want to freeze Ryou?” Lance asks, incredulous. “Just…just put him on ice?”  
  
“It will buy him time,” Shiro says. “That’s what he needs more than anything else right now. There might be something out there we can use to save Ryou. The cure isn’t the problem, we haven’t explored all our options yet. The problem is _time._ That’s what he doesn’t have.”  
  
It’s not an option that he particularly _likes,_ of course. Shiro hates the pods, hates how confining and restrictive they feel, hates that feeling of helplessness in them. The thought of being put away for an unknown period of time makes him shudder. He wouldn’t suggest it if there was another way. But there wasn’t, and Ryou is _already_ helpless. If this could save him, then they have to at least try.  
  
“So you’re saying we freeze him in his current state,” Pidge says slowly. “It won’t heal him—that barely works for him anyway—but it won’t let him get worse, either.”  
  
“Yes,” Shiro agrees. His heart is pounding in his chest now, and that anxious ice-cold knot in his stomach is still there, but he has a plan of attack now and he’ll take it. For the first time, he can see a chance at victory in the midst of all the helplessness and the waiting. “We buy him time, find a cure, and then bring him back while we still have a movement and a half to spare to actually heal him.”  
  
“It’s possible,” Coran concedes gravely, as Shiro turns to regard him. “I don’t see how it will hurt him any. Full stasis is painless, and it won’t permit his symptoms to progress further. He shouldn’t even dream. I didn’t.”  
  
“Neither did I,” Allura agrees.   
  
“We’d have to do it as soon as possible,” Pidge says, staring up at the screen with Ryou’s projected decline. “Like, _now._ Who knows how long this future cure is going to take to implement. He’ll need as much time as we can get him to actually use it on the other side.”   
  
“I can begin preparing a pod for full stasis immediately,” Coran agrees. “I think it would be for the best to have him in as soon as possible.”  
  
Shiro nods. Now that they have a plan—and a terrible, frightening deadline to beat—Shiro can all but hear the ticks counting down in his head. “Agreed,” he says. “But I’ll be the one to bring him. He’s most aware of himself when I’m there. I don’t want to just stuff him in a pod without him understanding what we’re doing and why.” He would never forgive himself if he did; he knows how frightening that can be on the other side. “I’ll explain everything to him and bring him here.”  
  
Nobody argues. Keith even nods in agreement. “I hope this helps,” Lance murmurs under his breath.   
  
“I hope he understands,” Keith mutters, even softer, as Shiro passes him for the door. It’s for Shiro’s ears only, but even so, it feels painful.   
  
Shiro hopes Ryou understands, too.  
  
He heads back to Ryou’s room in the paladin’s quarters much faster than when he left it, and makes it there in four doboshes. When he cracks open the door, Matt is sitting in Shiro’s chair, flicking idly through the holopad but not reading out loud. Ryou is asleep, buried under an extra blanket since Shiro had been there last.   
  
Matt looks up when the door cracks open, and tiptoes quietly to the door when Shiro beckons him. “That was fast,” he murmurs, once they’re both standing outside. Shiro leaves the door open a crack, just to keep an eye out in case Ryou wakes and needs one of them, but this is a conversation better had out of earshot.   
  
“Sort of. Things happened. How is he?”  
  
“Tired,” Matt admits with a sigh. “Cold—had to get him another blanket, he was shivering again. Confused. He kept forgetting my name, but you could tell he knew he was supposed to know it on some level. Kept telling me he was sorry. I kept telling him it was fine, but…” He shrugs, and rubs his eyes tiredly. “He fell asleep maybe ten doboshes ago when I was reading to him. Maybe he’ll feel better.”  
  
“Maybe,” Shiro agrees neutrally. Sometimes when he wakes up it’s like a reset for Ryou, and other times he’s worse.   
  
“This sucks,” Matt says. “My grandfather was like this, before he…well. You know. Pidge wouldn’t really remember, she was too young, but I got to see him once or twice at the hospital. That was awful, but it…I mean, he was older. You expected it, terrible as it was. This is…I mean, he’s _you_ , for god’s sake. You’re not even thirty yet. Neither is he, biologically. This is just messed up.”   
  
He rubs his face tiredly again. “I don’t know how you keep doing this every day. It’s hard to watch. And it’s got to be weird when it’s you, too.”   
  
“It’s not as bad with me,” Shiro says, although that’s half a lie at this point. That Ryou does _better_ when he’s around no longer means that Ryou is _himself_ when he’s around, not always.  
  
Matt looks doubtful. Shiro doesn’t blame him.  
  
“It’s going to be fine, Matt,” he promises. “We think we might have a solution. We just need to buy him a little time. That’s what I’m here for now.” He sketches out the plan in brief detail, about putting Ryou in stasis until they can more widely explore their medical treatment options for him.   
  
“I hope it works,” Matt says, when he finishes. “He never did anything to deserve this. Hey, I think Olia might have a couple contacts with those ashorii guys—I’ll ask her if she can give me some good rebel-friendly names to start. Maybe there’s someone trustworthy we can use to get him some help.”  
  
“Good idea,” Shiro agrees. “Let Coran know whatever you find.”  
  
“Will do. I’ll get on that now, and…leave you to it, then, I guess,” Matt says, glancing at the door. “Don’t want to disturb either of you. He’ll need all the focus he can get for this.”  
  
“Thanks, Matt,” Shiro says, putting a brief hand on his shoulder. “Really.”  
  
“Any time,” Matt says, and heads off down the hall. Shiro sighs, takes a deep, careful breath, and steps into Ryou’s room.  
  
Ryou is still asleep, undisturbed by the conversation outside. He looks more comfortable than when he’s awake, but only marginally. His skin is so pale it’s almost translucent, his cheekbones sharply defined and painfully accented by the scar over his nose, and there are dark lines under his eyes. Every breath he takes rattles uncomfortably in his chest and throat, and he shivers finely despite being bundled under three blankets. Everything about him seems fragile and terribly breakable.  
  
Shiro closes his eyes and steels himself for the next few moments. No matter how this goes, he knows it will be difficult. When he’s as ready as he ever will be, he opens his eyes, puts on his mask of confidence and calm, and calls his clone’s name. “Ryou.”  
  
Ryou doesn’t stir at his name or even at the noise. “Ryou,” Shiro calls him again, but Ryou is so exhausted he doesn’t respond. With a sigh, Shiro reaches out to carefully touch the lump under the newest blanket that he knows is his clone’s wrist. “Ryou. Hey. I need you to wake up for a second for me, okay?”  
  
Ryou stirs weakly at the touch, but doesn’t startle or attack. It’s just another one of the many ways Shiro knows he’s not well. Ryou still has _his_ instincts, and Shiro would have immediately struck out at an unexpected touch in the middle of his slumber. Then again, Shiro’s a light enough sleeper instinctively now that even the conversation in the hallway should have woken him, and Ryou had been blissfully unaware of that too.  
  
God, Ryou is so _sick._ He hopes Coran’s right, that a cure is out there as long as they have time to find it.  
  
Ryou’s eyes flutter open slowly, although he still can’t see anything, and his gaze flickers weakly as he tries an fails to focus on something. “S’wrong?” he mutters, voice thick and hazy with confusion.   
  
“There you are. Nothing’s wrong,” Shiro promises. Nothing Ryou needs to worry himself over, at any rate. “I need to talk to you about some things, though. It’s important. Can I help you sit up?”  
  
Ryou nods tiredly. Shiro slides a hand behind his shoulders and helps him lever himself up, and Ryou clings weakly to his flesh and blood arm with his own hand to try and help support himself. With his Galra hand, Shiro pulls several pillows close enough to prop Ryou up before helping him sit back again, and pulls the blankets up and around his clone’s shoulders when they slip and Ryou starts to shiver. “There. Comfortable?”  
  
“Yes,” Ryou mumbles, unfocused.   
  
“Okay. Good. Hey, Ryou?”  
  
“Mmm?” He still sounds half asleep, but his eyes flick in the direction of Shiro’s voice, even if he can’t see him.  
  
Shiro restrains a relieved sigh when Ryou actually responds to his own name this time. That might make things a little easier. “Do you mind if I sit down next to you? It might be easier to focus that way.”  
  
“Okay,” Ryou agrees. His brows pull together a little in confusion, but he seems to be trying hard to pay attention, at least.   
  
Permission granted, Shiro sits down on the edge of the bed, turned enough that he can look Ryou in the eye. Ryou’s currently blind gaze stares disconcertingly over Shiro’s left shoulder, but he’s trying.   
  
“Alright,” Shiro begins, trying to think of how best to break down the problem. Ryou’s not stupid, but as sick as he is, his focus is almost non-existent, and his memory could wander at any moment. He needs to keep things simple. “We’re really worried about you, Ryou,” he decides to open with.  
  
“We?” Ryou asks, frowning.  
  
“Me. Matt. Keith. Some…other friends of ours we’ve been talking to. You’re…you’re really sick, Ryou, and we want you to be able to get better. We’re trying to find ways to help you feel better.”  
  
Ryou shudders a little in his blankets, and sinks down into them a fraction, weakly pulling one of them closer with his one remaining hand. “Cold,” he whispers softly.  
  
The flash of anxiety across is face is enough to tell him what Ryou’s thinking about. “Yeah…the cryo-pods are a part of that,” Shiro agrees. “They’re one way to help. And we’re looking for a cure, too. But it’s…” he tries to think of how to tactfully but truthfully explain that Ryou’s days are limited at his current rate of decline. “You’re really sick, Ryou,” he repeats, finally. “You’re getting sick too fast for us to heal. We’re worried we might not be able to fix it, at this rate. Do you understand that?”  
  
“Yes,” Ryou says, after a very long time. Another shiver wracks his body, and he adds miserably, “I’m sorry.”  
  
“No, that’s not what I meant,” Shiro says, gentle but firm. “I’m not mad. Nobody’s mad. We just want to help you, okay? We don’t want you to keep getting sick. Do you understand?”  
  
“Yes,” Ryou says again, swallowing.   
  
“Okay,” Shiro says. So far, so good; Ryou at least seems to be getting what he’s saying. It could be worse. “We think we might have a different way we can help, though. The cryo-pods can put you to sleep for a little while—“  
  
Ryou shudders again.  
  
“—until we can find a real cure, and fix everything. It will stop you from getting any sicker until we can find something to help you. We can save your life with this. Do you understand that?”  
  
Ryou is silent for an even longer time than before. “Yes,” he finally answers after more than a dobosh. His voice is strained, and trembles slightly.   
  
“Hey, it’s okay,” Shiro says, making his voice as soothing and patient as possible. “It’ll be fine. I don’t like the pods either, but this is completely safe, okay? And we can save you with it. This will help you feel better. We can fix you with this. Okay? Ryou?”  
  
“I…I understand,” Ryou says. His voice is still strained, even in the hoarse whisper he can barely manage now. “I’m sorry…”  
  
“Don’t be sorry,” Shiro reassures him patiently. “None of this is your fault, Ryou. We know that.”   
  
He leans forward with the intention of putting a hand on Ryou’s shoulder, and to maybe help him wrap up more comfortably in the blankets. Even the journey to the med bay will be taxing on him, and he’ll need the warmth. But the moment Ryou feels Shiro’s weight shift on the mattress, his eyes widen, and he rasps harshly, “I’m sorry, please don’t—“  
  
Shiro freezes immediately, hand still half outstretched.   
  
Ryou’s not shivering from just cold anymore; he’s pretty sure that’s fear. His unseeing eyes are wide and struggling to find something to focus on, flicking back and forth like the gaze of a caged animal. His rattling breaths grow a little faster, a little harsher.   
  
Shiro inwardly curses himself. He’s never witnessed himself having panic attacks or flashbacks, but he seems to have triggered _something._ Outwardly, he asks slowly and cautiously, “Ryou? Do you know where you are right now?”  
  
He’s not expecting Ryou to answer, so it comes as a shock when he does. “Room,” Ryou whispers after a moment, sightless eyes flicking towards Shiro’s voice. His own voice trembles weakly. “Mine. Not the pods. Not the pods. Please. I’m sorry…”   
  
Shiro pulls back immediately, alarmed. He’d known this wasn’t going to be easy, but he hadn’t expected such a frightened—and frighten _ing_ —reaction. “Hey,” he says, calm and soothing and doing his best to fight down his own nerves, “Hey, woah, easy. It’s okay, Ryou, I promise. The pods are…I don’t like them either, a lot of the time, but they’re nothing like the Galra, okay? They’re there to help. Everyone just wants to help. It’ll only be for a little while. No one’s going to hurt you or do anything against your will. Ryou? Do you understand that?”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Ryou repeats. He barely seems to hear Shiro. His voice is harsh, rasping, barely a whisper, and shakes just as much as he does. “I’m sorry, I…I know I’m a failed subject after all, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been approved, I’m a failure to my purpose, but don’t put me in storage, please, please—“  
  
The words are like a lightning bolt right to the heart, and for a moment Shiro is numb with shock.   
  
_Storage?_ He hadn’t really thought…?   
  
They’d gleaned some information about the cloning experiments from numerous recent missions, after trying to find more information on Ryou’s origin to help him. What little they’d managed to find had been hideous and appalling. There had been dozens of others that hadn’t been approved, impartial or incomplete. If the clones hadn’t died immediately, they’d been stuffed away in tubes or labs to be studied on their failings until they were useless, and then decommissioned permanently. ‘Storage’ was only one step away from execution.  
  
God, Ryou had really thought they were going to…  
  
Shiro feels sick with horror as dawning comprehension washes over him. Ryou is still wide-eyed and frightened, shaking where he’s propped up, too weak to run and just aware enough to know he’s completely at Shiro’s mercy. He’s falling apart, and even sick as he is, understands just enough to know it. The clones that fell apart didn’t get to live long. The Galra had never wanted them. They were failures. Weak. Worthless. Useless.   
  
Shiro has been such a goddamned _idiot_ for _weeks._   
  
He’s moving before he even realizes it, lurching from where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed to reach for Ryou. Ryou flinches when he feels Shiro move, but then Shiro has both arms around him, drawing him in close to hold him instead. The hug is fiercely protective, encompassing every instinct Shiro has to shield and defend, but even so he’s mindful of his strength. He has to be gentle, so gentle, because Ryou is so breakable now. He supports Ryou with his Galra arm with the utmost care around his back and side, and his real hand rests against the back of Ryou’s skull, pressing his head gently against Shiro’s shoulder.   
  
This close, he can feel every protruding rib of Ryou’s and every jutting angle on his too-thin frame, even through the blankets he’s still wrapped in. It’s heartbreaking, and yet at the same time makes Shiro want to curl even closer around him to shield him from anything in the universe that would dare take away his second chance.   
  
“No,” Shiro says, fierce and soothing all at once. “ _No._ God, no. Ryou, listen, we would never do that, okay? You're not just some experiment to us. Never to us. Never to _me._ Okay? We will never do that to you, ever. _Ever._   
  
“And I’m so sorry that we ever did anything to make you believe that,” Shiro adds. He’s so sorry, more than he can ever express. He should have _known_ better. He should have fucking _known_. “That’s our fault. That’s _my_ fault. But you’re safe here. That will _never_ happen.”   
  
Ryou is completely still in Shiro’s arms. Even his breathing hitches as his harsh pants quiet down. For one frightening moment, Shiro is so afraid that Ryou still doesn’t understand; that his mind is still trapped in some terrible reality where he expects to be discarded over something he never had any control over.   
  
But after a moment, he starts trembling again, and his whole body loses tension. He goes completely limp, until Shiro is the only thing holding him up. His head turns weakly, pressing into Shiro’s shoulder just a little more, and after a moment Shiro can feel his one remaining hand struggle weakly out of the blankets until his fingers can curl around the edge of Shiro’s vest.   
  
“ ‘m sorry,” he mutters weakly into Shiro’s shoulder.  
  
“Don’t be,” Shiro insists. “It’s not your fault. You have nothing to be sorry for. No matter what happens, you are _always_ safe here.”   
  
The words seem to break something free in Ryou’s head. A long, slow shiver wracks his entire body, and his shoulders begin to shake as he buries his face in Shiro’s vest. Relieved, exhausted, and sick, he cries quietly into Shiro’s shoulder over his own stay of execution.   
  
Shiro lets him, and rocks them side to side gently as he holds Ryou up. It’s the first time, since all of this has begun, that he’s ever witnessed Ryou cry. Even in his most distressed, confused moments, he’s never once started sobbing. That doesn’t surprise Shiro. Neither of them are particularly given to tears, after all, but Ryou…  
  
Ryou has been stoically accepting everything that’s been happening to him without argument. He's acknowledged the logic and necessity of every choice, even if it must have felt as though he’d been marching closer to his own execution every day. He’s exhausted, terrified and suffering, and he needs this, desperately.   
  
So Shiro ignores the way his shoulder grows steadily more damp, or the way a little voice in the back of his head insists that Ryou doesn’t have _time_ for this and that they have to move _now._ This is important too. Ryou needs this, too. And if he needs Shiro there to support him physically, or to help his mind stay focused for just a little while longer—if he needs to borrow Shiro’s strength to make it one more day—then Shiro will give it and gladly.   
  
It takes a while for the sobs to finally subside, but Shiro doesn’t begrudge the time. When Ryou’s shoulders finally stop shaking, what little strength he has left seems to drain out of him, and he rests bonelessly against Shiro. His head settles gently on Shiro’s shoulder, but his fingers lose their grip on Shiro’s vest, and drop limply to the side in the tangle of blankets.   
  
“Still with me, Ryou?” Shiro asks quietly. At this angle he can’t see his clone’s face anymore, and he’s not sure if Ryou’s fallen asleep, or if his focus drifted, or if he’s just too tired and wrung out to cry anymore.  
  
But Ryou grunts softly in acknowledgement. His head twitches weakly against Shiro’s shoulder, as if attempting to nod.   
  
“Okay. Good.” He nudges gently against Ryou’s head with his own as he continues to rock them side to side, trying to think of how to word his next question. After a moment, he says softly, “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but…can I ask what made you think we were going to… _decommission_ you?”   
  
He swallows. There really is no tactful way to say ‘execute.’   
  
Ryou shivers once. His voice slurs a little when he speaks, a mix of exhaustion and illness both, and his thoughts are staggered and incomplete. “Removed…removed duties. Took away approved resources. Restricted movements. Can’t act. Can’t follow instructions. Can’t…a waste, it’s a waste of resources, like the others, they…they end up on the tables…back in the tubes…don’t know what happens to them after—“  
  
“Ssssh,” Shiro murmurs, when Ryou's distress starts to grow again. He holds him a little tighter without thinking at the shaking tremors in Ryou’s voice, fiercely protective. He’s disgusted at the Galra for treating Ryou— _and the other clones,_ he reminds himself—in such a fashion. They weren’t objects or playthings to be so easily toyed with and discarded. They were living beings. They’d never asked to be made, or to be made wrong. None of this was their fault, and they’d been punished for it anyway.  
  
But Shiro is disgusted with himself, too, for missing all the signs. Thinking back, it’s all there, every time. Ryou had been so reluctant to be taken off of his planet-side duties, and tasks around the ship. He’d struggled so hard to be useful, and had felt helpless and frustrated when his illness had prevented him from being productive in any way. He’d reacted so strangely whenever Shiro had implied that Ryou _wasn’t_ him anymore—but a stealth clone that couldn’t be taken believably for its target was no good at its job, so of course he had been worried. When Shiro had taken the arm away he’d been upset, and Shiro had assumed it was because of his loss of independence, because that was what would have upset him. He’d been wrong. Ryou had been upset because the arm was a valuable resource only supplied for clones worth gambling on, and taking it away had meant Ryou was failing.   
  
Failing meant storage.   
  
Storage meant execution.   
  
God, Shiro had fucked up badly on this. Every time Ryou displayed reluctance or distress, Shiro had framed it on his own terms. Ryou had sprung from his own thoughts and memories—why shouldn’t his fears have been the same, too? He’d made assumptions on everything—that Ryou’s reluctance was because of fear of the Galra, because of the trauma of Shiro’s own memories. He’d never stopped to think for a second that Ryou had his _own_ traumatic memories buried beneath the surface of his embedded personality that might drive his own thoughts and actions and fears. And of course Ryou had never argued with any of his decisions. Every call Shiro had ever made was buried in is own brand of logic and decision-making, the same logic Ryou shared. Every decision had frightened him, but he had seen the necessity in every one, too, and he’d been just Shiro enough to not fight it.   
  
But while Ryou came from his DNA, Ryou is not him. And Shiro had pushed to remind Ryou of that so often he’d completely neglected to take it into account for himself. And that had cost Ryou weeks of anxiety and dread as he’d drifted closer to his own perceived execution—anxiety and dread Shiro could have alleviated weeks ago if he’d just paid attention for five damned seconds.   
  
But no more. He’s too late to fix this completely but he’s at least going to try. Ryou deserves that much.  
  
Ryou shivers against him again, and Shiro draws his blankets a little closer around him with his Galra hand. “Okay. Okay, that’s…that’s not right, what they did. You understand that, right? But that’s not happening to you. _Never._ That was never the intent behind anything we did, and I’m so sorry that we—that _I_ —scared you into believing that. We just wanted to keep you safe, and help you get better. None of this means you’re a waste. Okay? You got that?”  
  
He can feel Ryou swallow nervously against his shoulder, but after a moment his clone whispers, “Yes.”  
  
“Okay. Good.” Shiro quiets for a while, giving Ryou time to process. He’s so tired and hurting so badly that all of this has to be overwhelming for him. He waits, but Ryou makes no effort to push away or extricate himself, so he continues to hold him, rocking them gently again.   
  
He gives Ryou a little time, but they’re not done yet. The reason they’re in this mess to begin with is still hanging over Shiro’s head. He’s still painfully, frighteningly aware that for all his promises of not sending Ryou to his own death, there is still a very real chance that he could die very soon all the same.   
  
So once Ryou is calm again, but before he can drift away in his own head or drop into a weary doze, Shiro cautiously approaches the topic again. “We still need to talk about the pods, Ryou—“  
  
Ryou’s reaction is instant; his whole body starts to tremble again, and he shakes his head weakly into Shiro’s shoulder. “Not the pods… _please…”_  
  
“Ssh,” Shiro soothes, as gentle and calm as he can be. “Easy, Ryou. It’s not storage, I swear it. It’s just for a little while, okay? It won’t hurt, you won’t feel a thing. You won’t even dream. You _will_ come out afterwards. You’re going to wake up. This is just to try and buy you time, until we can find a way to make you better. And we _will._ You just need some time. That’s all.”  
  
Ryou doesn’t answer, but his shaking doesn’t stop, and the low, harsh moan he makes in the back of his throat is telling enough about how he feels on the matter.  
  
“I’m not going to force you,” Shiro promises, still low and soothing. “You deserve to have a choice in the matter. If you don’t want to do this, we won’t, and we can still try to find a fix for this a different way.” He pauses. Swallows. “But…Ryou, there’s…there’s a very real chance you won’t make it that long.”   
  
His voice actually breaks a little at the end, despite all his efforts to remain as calm and in control as possible for his clone’s sake. Ryou is silent, and Shiro is afraid that despite his best efforts Ryou’s managed to pick up on his own fears. It’s not right. Ryou has enough to deal with without compounding more.  
  
“I won’t force you,” Shiro repeats, once he’s sure he has control of his own voice again. “We are trying to save you. None of us want to see you die. But it’s your choice.”   
  
Ryou doesn’t answer. His trembling gradually subsides, but he’s silent but for his harsh, weak breaths. He’s quiet for so long Shiro is afraid that he’s lost the question, that the whole conversation was too much for him to handle. But then Ryou whispers so softly that Shiro barely hears it, “You’ll stay…?”  
  
It’s only half a question, but Shiro understands it anyway. “I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep,” he promises, gently emphasizing the last word, “and I’ll be there when you wake up, too. I promise.”   
  
Ryou is silent for a long time again, contemplating. But then, at last, he finally gives the tiniest of exhausted nods into Shiro’s shoulder.  
  
The relief that floods Shiro at that minuscule movement is like a shot of pure adrenaline to his system. “Okay. Thank you for trusting me. I promise, it’s going to be okay. Alright?”  
  
Ryou doesn’t speak—Shiro can _feel_ how tired he is in the way his whole body hangs bonelessly in Shiro’s arms, and the whole thing has to be draining on him. But he does make a soft noise of disbelief, and he shivers again in fearful anticipation.  
  
“Easy,” he soothes. “I mean it. It’s going to be fine. But we go when you say, and not before. Take your time if you need it. I’m not going anywhere.”  
  
The little voice in the back of his head counting down the ticks that Ryou has left screams that this is stupid. Ryou doesn’t have time to take. They have to _go_ , now. But he ignores that voice, and puts the choice firmly in Ryou’s hand. Ryou has been helpless for far too long, had his fate chosen for him for weeks now. Shiro had never had anything but good intentions with his decisions, but that hadn’t been enough. Ryou deserves to make his own choices, here most of all, and not even Shiro can make them for him, no matter how similar they might be.  
  
It takes Ryou the better part of twenty minutes to work himself up to making the decision. But at last he nods weakly into Shiro’s shoulder, before letting out an exhausted, trembling sigh. In that moment, Shiro has nothing but respect for Ryou and the absolute courage necessary to take that step forward.   
  
“Okay,” Shiro says, as he finally releases Ryou from his hold and helps him settle back against he pillows. “I’m going to carry you, but let’s get you wrapped up a little better, first.” Ryou gets cold so easily now, even with the regulated temperatures of the Castle of Lions.   
  
He wraps two of the blankets around his clone from shoulder to toe, until only his head is easily visible. Then he lifts him as gently as he can to avoid any accidental bruising, or aggravating his joints and sore muscles too much. Even taking into account the missing metal arm, Ryou is appallingly light, and almost too easy to carry. His head flops limply against Shiro’s shoulder again, but this time at this angle Shiro can catch the way Ryou stares blankly into the distance with his sightless eyes. His eyelids flutter weakly, and Shiro as a feeling he’s going to drift off soon, wrung out by last hour of discussions and revelations.   
  
“It’s going to be fine,” he promises again, as he heads for the door and nudges it open carefully. “I promise.”   
  
Ryou doesn’t answer. But he doesn’t argue this time, either.


	4. Chapter 4

Shiro makes the trip back to the infirmary as quickly as he can while still keeping his place even for Ryou’s sake. When they get closer, Shiro can hear the anxious voices of the rest of the team.   
  
“It’s been over a varga. Should we check…?” Hunk’s voice, tinged with worry.  
  
“No. Leave him be.” Keith’s voice, firm and resolute, the same voice he uses when he’s in a position of leadership. Shiro so rarely gets to hear that one; Keith always defers to him these days when they’re discussing missions.  
  
“But he might need our help,” Lance says.  
  
“No, Keith is right.” Matt says. He must have joined the team in the time Shiro’s been away. “Ryou is…it’s been a rough day for him. It might take him a while to understand. More people would just confuse him further.”   
  
Lance grumbles, but doesn’t argue. Allura sighs. “I do not like this. Is this illness common on Earth? It is frightening.”   
  
“It’s…” Pidge’s voice hitches a little. “It’s hard to say. It’s similar to some things, but…it doesn’t usually happen to younger people like Shiro. Still scary, though…”   
  
“Shiro will come through,” Keith says insistently. “If anyone can help Ryou, it’s him. They’re connected.” The others murmur in agreement.  
  
Interesting thing for them to note. Shiro puzzles over that, but it’s a question for another day, when Ryou is better. He finally reaches the door and steps in carefully, mindful of Ryou’s head and blanket-wrapped legs. “Hey. We’re back.”   
  
Everyone looks up in a mix of relief and concern. Lance, Hunk, Allura, and Coran look appalled when they catch sight of Ryou’s gaunt face and frighteningly pale skin. They haven’t been able to see Ryou recently for fear of confusing or upsetting him when he didn’t know them, and aren’t as familiar with his current state. Matt, Keith and Pidge seem more impressed that Shiro managed to get him here at all.  
  
“How’s he doing?”  
  
“Oh, geez, Ryou, I’m so sorry, man—“  
  
“What took so long? Is everything okay?”  
  
“Is he cold? I can access the Castle controls from here to increase the temperature to make him more comfortable—“  
  
“—does he understand—“  
  
“—ready for this?”  
  
Ryou’s eyes flick back and forth in alarm as he tries to track so many voices, most of them unfamiliar to him now. It’s too overwhelming for him, and after a moment he moans softly in confusion, burying his face in Shiro’s shoulder and squeezing his eyes shut.  
  
“Everyone, quiet,” Shiro orders immediately.  
  
He doesn’t have to raise his voice, but everyone immediately cuts off in mid sentence, wide-eyed and staring.   
  
That helps, a little at least. Ryou doesn’t seem quite so tense in his arms, but he is still turned as far away from the noise as he can reasonably manage while being held. It’s too much for him—too many things to try and keep track of, too many people witnessing his perceived failures, too many strangers he doesn’t know.   
  
“Thank you,” Shiro says, looking around the room. “Okay. Anyone who isn’t immediately necessary for this procedure—wait outside, please.”   
  
Hunk fidgets anxiously. “Is…is something wrong?” The others seem equally worried, glancing anxiously between Hunk and Shiro, or watching Ryou in his arms with unease.   
  
“Everything is fine,” Shiro assures. “I’ll explain after, but for now, let’s not crowd the room. Outside, please.”  
  
Keith and Matt seem to understand the best, probably because they’ve witnessed Ryou more recently at his worst. “Come on,” Keith says, leading the pack. He walks out straight-backed and confident for the benefit of the others, but gives Shiro a cautious look out of the corner of his eyes as he passes. Shiro gives him a significant look back, just enough to pass the message, _later._   
  
The others follow, less confidently. They pass Ryou with worried looks, but hold their tongues when Shiro gives them warning glances. Even the noise of so much movement for so many people is overwhelming for Ryou as it is, and his face stays firmly buried in Shiro’s shoulder, eyes squeezed tightly shut. It’s too much detail to try and take in when he’s so sick and vulnerable, and his mind wanders so easily.  
  
At last the room is empty, other than Coran. Coran gestures them forward, but has the good sense to remain quiet for the moment, taking his cues from Shiro. Shiro’s grateful for that, because this is going to be exhausting enough as it is.   
  
He steps forward with Ryou still in his arms, now murmuring low and soothing to him. “We’re here,” he says. “Everything is still okay. You’re going to be fine, and I’m going to be right here with you. And there’s someone else here with us too, he’s going to help get you set up. His name is Coran, he’s a friend. I trust him with my life. He won’t hurt you, okay? Do you understand?”  
  
Ryou swallows, and lifts his head weakly, trying to listen better for this new person. He can barely manage it for a second before his head drops against Shiro’s shoulder again, but he murmurs softly, “Yes.”  
  
“Okay, good,” Shiro says. He nods to Coran, giving him permission to talk now.  
  
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ryou,” Coran says. His expression is pained, but there’s a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. Coran is an old soldier, for all his goofy actions; he understands not all wounds of war are physical. He plays along admirably, keeping his tone calm and patient. “I understand you’re not feeling well, but we’re doing everything we can to fix that.”  
  
Ryou merely grunts in acknowledgement.   
  
Coran doesn’t take it personally, fortunately. “I lowered the pod to a horizontal state,” he tells Shiro. “It sounded like standing might prove to be a challenge.” He pats the flat surface balanced over one of the holes in the room that normally contain retracted pods. Shiro can see how it will rotate once Ryou is settled in and the casing closes, docking properly. For now though, it’s just like a bed.  
  
Or a metal table.  
  
 _Focus, Shiro,_ he snaps at himself internally. _Ryou needs your support right now. He needs_ this. _And he needs to be able to trust you for this. Do not cause him to panic. He can’t afford it._   
  
“Okay,” he says out loud. “Thanks, Coran.” The rotated pod is at hip height, allowing Shiro to lower Ryou onto it gently. Even so, Ryou hisses softly when he makes contact with the metal surface, even through the two wrapped blankets, and goes immediately tense.   
  
“Easy,” Shiro reassures. “It’s fine. Everything is okay. You’re okay. I promise.”   
  
Ryou’s not happy about it, worn out from today’s events. But he does let Shiro settle him on the pod’s support backing without fighting him on it. Shiro eases him down carefully, supporting his head and shoulders as he helps him lean back. Ryou barely has the strength to stay awake, let alone support himself.   
  
“You’re doing just fine, Ryou,” Coran encourages. “I’ll be doing a quick scan so we have the most up to date information to work with for finding your cure. You can keep the blankets on for that, if you like, if you’re feeling a little chilly. Then we’ll get you all settled in for your rest, hmm?”   
  
Ryou’s brows pull together in confusion, and Shiro thinks he only got maybe half of that. Too many words from a person he doesn’t recognize, too quickly. “He’s going to do a scan to help you,” Shiro summarizes. “I’ll stay here with you while he does.”   
  
Coran doesn’t argue that. He nods, and brings up several holographic screens, flicking through them to start the scans as quickly as possible. The pod hums softly as it activates. It’s actually a pleasant sound, compared to the whirring blades and choking respirators of the Galra labs, but Ryou jerks in surprise at the unfamiliar noise all the same. Shiro slips his real hand underneath Ryou’s blankets and wraps them around Ryou’s remaining fingers, squeezing gently enough to not cause any bruising. “It’s okay. You’re fine. It’s just the scan.”   
  
Ryou doesn’t answer, but his fingers readjust to weakly grip at Shiro’s, instead. Shiro lets him take what comfort he can.  
  
The scan only takes maybe three doboshes, but Shiro talks to Ryou through all of it, reassuring him that everything is fine over and over. Ryou keeps his head turned towards Shiro, listening for his voice, and clinging to the anchor of Shiro’s hand with everything he has left.   
  
“There we are,” Coran finally says. “All done. Nice and easy, see?” He swipes his hands over the holographic screens, pushing them aside and pulling up new ones. For a moment he looks like he wants to pat Ryou reassuringly on the shoulder, but thinks better of it when Shiro shakes his head in a cautious _no_. Ryou’s so twitchy right now, he won’t take well to a stranger touching him, especially in a scenario that scares him so badly.   
  
“Now for the next part,” Coran continues, still maintaining a calm, patient tone. “It should be very simple, Ryou. You don’t have to do a thing, we’ll take care of everything. It’ll be a nice little nap. I’ve done it myself and woke up completely well-rested. You won’t even dream! Not bad at all.”   
  
Ryou swallows. Shiro’s not sure if he even remembers being told the same thing earlier. His hold on Shiro’s hand becomes a death grip for a moment. But then, to Shiro’s surprise, he slowly lets go.   
  
Shiro’s never been more proud of anyone than at that moment.   
  
“You’re doing great,” he encourages, as he helps Coran ease the blankets away, the last of the prep-work for the pod. “You’re doing just fine, Ryou. I’m jealous…you’re going to get a better rest than me. No dreams? Lucky.”   
  
Ryou actually manages to snort at that.   
  
“You’ll have to tell me what that’s like when you wake up,” Shiro continues, keeping an eye on Coran as he finishes the last of the setup. He pats Ryou’s arm gently. “I’ll be right there waiting for an answer.”   
  
Ryou swallows again, and croaks a moment later, “Thank you.”  
  
“No need for thanks,” Shiro says. “I promised.” Coran signals to him that he’s ready, and Shiro pats Ryou’s arm one last time. “Okay. It’s time, Ryou. Just get some rest, and when you wake up, we’re gonna have a cure for you. I swear it.”   
  
He takes his hand out of the depression of the pod, and the casing flickers as it appears to grow into place from out of nowhere. Ryou flinches slightly at the noise, but to his credit, doesn’t panic. His sightless eyes don’t stop staring in Shiro’s direction, though—not until the effects of the pod kick in, and they flutter slowly shut. In less than a dobosh he’s completely under, frozen in place and frozen in time, unaware of the world around him passing him by.  
  
“All signs are fine,” Coran reports, after monitoring carefully for a dobosh. “I have the computer monitoring every life sign and function. If anything changes even for a moment, we’ll be aware. But for now at least, he’s stable.”   
  
Shiro lets out a shaky sigh, and finally, _finally,_ lets himself crash. He’s been maintaining his calm facade for Ryou since they left his room. Now he bows forward, resting his shaking hands against the side of the pod, lowers his head, and squeezes his eyes shut.  
  
He startles when he feels a hand on his back, until he realizes that Coran is standing next to him now, left hand outstretched and resting against his shoulder-blades soothingly. “It’s alright,” he assures. “He’ll be fine. And so will you. You did an excellent job, there.”   
  
“I don’t think I did at all,” Shiro admits honestly. He doesn’t like admitting his weaknesses, but, well…there’s no one else to tell, and the weight on is chest is heavy. He’ll have to explain parts of it to the rest of the team waiting outside, but some of it…Ryou was just too vulnerable for all of that to be exposed. And Shiro…Shiro couldn’t show how shaken he was by all of this, not in front of his team. But Coran had at least seen the state Ryou was in at the end. He understood at least part of it, or was smart enough to infer it.  
  
Coran pats his back. “Nonsense,” he says. “He was relying on you and you were there for him when he needed it. That’s all anyone can ask.”   
  
“I wasn’t there for him as much as I should have been,” Shiro insists stubbornly. In halting detail, he explains Ryou’s fears, and the way he’d been so convinced he’d been failing badly enough to be sentenced to death. Even confused as he was, even if he’d been mixing Galra procedure with Voltron’s when he couldn’t keep things straight anymore, Shiro’s beyond disgusted with himself for letting that confusion go on for as long as it did.   
  
“Shiro,” Coran says, once Shiro finally stops speaking. “You’ve already been, what’s the expression you humans use….’running yourself into the ground’ to help him. You’ve been doing everything you can every tick of every quintent trying to help him. _No one_ would believe for a second you did this on purpose.”  
  
Shiro stares at him incredulously.  
  
“You made a mistake, and while that is regrettable, you did everything you could to rectify it as soon as you knew,” Coran continues. “Any fool could see he trusts you still; he certainly didn’t willingly go into that pod because of _me._ You haven’t broken that, and you haven’t abandoned him despite the enormity of this task.” He smiles. “You should trust yourself to handle this, too.”   
  
“I could have done something about this weeks ago,” Shiro insists. “At least he wouldn’t have been so scared. Or at least I’d have been able to remind him when he forgot.”   
  
Coran smiles knowingly. “It’s that very response that makes all the difference in the world between you and Ryou’s creators, Shiro. He’s not just a _thing_ to be 'fixed' to you. He’s a _person._ His mental well-being is just as important to you as his physical health. You’re doing what you can to help him, and you’re trying to learn from your mistakes so you don’t make them again. No one can ask for more.”   
  
Shiro hesitates for a moment, but then nods. He stares at Ryou’s now peacefully sleeping form through the frosted pod glass. Coran wasn’t wrong. Despite everything, Ryou _had_ still trusted him. If their positions had been reversed…well. Shiro can’t say for _certain_ that Ryou would have reacted the exact same as him—that’s been made painfully clear—but Shiro wouldn’t have let himself be put down so easily. He’d have fought with what little strength he’d had left, unless someone he’d trusted had been guiding him through it.   
  
He’d screwed up. But he’d tried to fix it. And maybe it helped, at least a little.  
  
“You’re right,” he says finally. “I…thanks, Coran.”  
  
“Think nothing of it, number one,” Coran says, patting him one last time on the back. “Now, I’ll get this pod re-docked and have Ryou all settled in for his stay. And I believe you have some worried team members to explain things to, and a hunt for a cure to begin.”  
  
“Right,” Shiro says, breathing out an exhausted sigh and finally pushing himself up from the pod so that Coran can retract it.  
  
“And Shiro?” Coran adds, as he starts punching data into the computer. The pod whirs as it begins to shift upright, with Ryou still stored comfortably inside.   
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“Before you begin the second task…get some rest,” Coran says seriously. “You can’t find Ryou’s cure if you make yourself sick, too.”   
  
Shiro smiles weakly. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, and heads for the door to reassure the waiting, anxious members of Team Voltron.

* * *

  
  
Over the next few quintents, the team really leaps into action as they follow any lead they can to save Ryou’s life.  
  
Coran constantly monitors Ryou’s health signs in the pod. He has his portable monitor set up to display the statistics in real time, and to sound the alarm the moment anything changes. To everyone’s immense relief, absolutely nothing does. Ryou is completely frozen at the moment he’d been put in the pod, and while he’s certainly not getting better, his body and mind don’t degrade further. As Coran promises, he doesn’t even show signs of dreaming.  
  
Shiro is relieved about that. Ryou’s suffered enough as it is without being trapped in his or Shiro’s own nightmares.  
  
Without having to constantly supervise Ryou, the team is free to act on finding his cure without interruption. Six paladins and five Lions means one person is always available for research and field work, and all of them take their turns at it. Sometimes Allura will swap with Lance in the Blue Lion, in order to open wormholes to their latest contacts. Sometimes Keith will take over in the Black Lion for Shiro, so that Shiro can discuss the situation with medical professionals, or provide baseline samples in the research. Sometimes Matt is with them, acting as liaison between rebel contacts and the Voltron paladins, or calling in markers on past deeds to get them just a little closer to someone that can help.  
  
It’s tricky, of course. They have to be careful with how they present the problem to these contacts. Although most of them are considered trustworthy and know the meaning of discretion, Ryou’s case is still unusual enough that they don’t want it to be public.   
  
To the coalition, Ryou has been introduced as Shiro’s twin brother, a not-uncommon occurrence even outside of Earth. The coalition is familiar with Ryou by now thanks to his diplomatic missions and motivational speeches planet-side, and trust him as a valued member of the Voltron alliance.   
  
But revealing that he’s a clone, and made by the Galra no less, could make things difficult for him. At best, it would raise too many questions. At worst, it would put him in danger if coalition members thought he was too dangerous to remain, and decided to act on it. It had been enough of a struggle for team Voltron to acclimate to Ryou’s situation, and all of them had worked with Ryou directly; those more distant from him might never understand that he’s safe.  
  
So they can’t admit that Ryou is a clone to their medical experts, and that makes things a bit troublesome when they know it’s Ryou’s status as a clone that is causing this, somehow. Shiro isn’t sure he trusts these people quite enough to have that information. Not when Ryou is so vulnerable, and not when he’s witnessed firsthand how some of these freed planets respond to allied Galra like the Blade of Marmora, or even to Keith, who doesn’t look Galra at all. The last thing he needs is for these people to determine that Ryou is a threat that needs to be exterminated, and slipping a kill inside of a cure. _No one_ is ever going to decide that Ryou deserves execution ever again, not on Shiro’s watch.  
  
So they fudge the story a little. Ryou’s readings aren’t those of a clone’s; it’s experimental data they’ve stolen from the Galra on some form of new biological weapon. Shiro’s being used as a baseline for it, since he had been a prisoner and was a notable Galra enemy. It’s not an unreasonable story, and all of Ryou’s DNA matches Shiro’s. It’s not hard to think the Galra might design something to kill him specifically, or human biology in general.  
  
Their contacts buy the story. Unfortunately, they don’t find anything, either. Olia’s initial contacts are friendly enough, but not specialized in multi-sapient species biology enough to understand the complicated readouts of human health and genetics. They take almost a full spicolian movement to study the data before admitting it’s out of their league, and pointing the team in the direction of others that might be more help while still being capable of maintaining discretion. It takes the better part of a day for the rebels and team Voltron to screen the new contacts for trustworthiness before beginning the process again, only for that team, too, to throw in the towel after several more quintents of study.  
  
At the two-movement mark, Shiro finds himself quietly standing in front of Ryou’s pod, real hand pressed to the cool surface. Ryou’s pod has been left upright at Shiro’s request, not retracted into the floor as Coran and Allura had been at first. Shiro doesn’t want him stored away, no matter how eerie it is to see his own face and body—withered though it is—trapped within the glass. It’s not storage. He’d told Ryou that and he’d _meant_ it. He won’t be hidden away out of sight and out of mind. This is about saving him, not sweeping him aside.   
  
“Two spicolian movements, Ryou,” he murmurs out loud. He’s alone in the room, for now, other than Ryou himself, but his clone doesn’t answer. He’s completely silent. Shiro can’t even listen to him breathing, or to his heartbeat, like he might be able to in a regular healing stasis; this setting prevents that completely.   
  
Shiro swallows. “Two movements since our last talk. I know you can’t hear me right now, but…I am beyond happy that you chose to trust us with this. I know this scared the hell out of you, but you did it anyway. And if you hadn’t…” He bites his tongue for a moment, trying not to think about the alternatives.   
  
If Ryou hadn’t agreed to this, he’d be dead today, if he hadn’t succumbed to his illness quintents before now.   
  
“I’m proud of you,” he finishes, pressing his fingers just a little harder into the glass, just for a moment. As if it will let him transmit his thoughts to his clone if he just presses hard enough. “And we haven’t given up on you. We’re still searching. Just…thanks for letting us buy you time.”   
  
Ryou doesn’t answer, but that’s okay. He’s safe, at least. For now.  
  
Two more spicolian movements pass with frustratingly few results. They manage to track down more experts in the coalition, some through word of mouth and others through rebel contacts, or on the good authority of the Olkari, now the centerpiece of the revolution. Some contacts understand the data they’re looking at better than others, and make a few educated guesses or suggestions for possible issues, but they end up being false leads. No one can seem to find the difference between Shiro’s baseline stats and Ryou’s somehow-corrupted ones.   
  
“It’s like the worst ‘can you spot the difference’ game in the world,” Pidge groans, after reviewing the latest reports back from their most recent komuuki expert. The scientist had been fascinated with human biology as a rule, but had regretfully reported—after at least twenty pages of scientific rambling, according to Pidge—that she could see no causal factor in the difference between the individual’s two sets of readings, other than, of course, that the second appeared to be severely ill.   
  
“Twenty pages of rambling just to tell us what we already knew!” Lance scowls. “ _And_ you had to waste all that time translating it.”  
  
“Do we have a new lead?” Hunk asks, worried. “It’s been like a month and nobody’s had anything yet…”  
  
“Nothing,” Shiro says tiredly. He’s been studying the dwindling list of potential experts for days, but some of them still need verification and others he doesn’t trust yet. Olia’s got her feelers out for more potential candidates, and Matt’s been giving them updates every quintent on those potentials, but so far, nothing.  
  
Keith frowns quietly in the corner, arms folded across his chest.   
  
“At least he’s not getting worse,” Hunk says sadly. “Although it’s awful he’s been in there for so long…”  
  
“It could be worse,” Allura offers, a little weakly. “It could be ten thousand years.”   
  
“We’re going to have a cure long before that,” Shiro says, with forced confidence.   
  
No one argues, but everyone is weary. They head for bed after another unsuccessful day, hoping the morning will bring new possibilities.  
  
Instead the morning brings the absence of one red paladin. Keith disappears in the night, taking a pod and vanishing to who knows where. He’s off comm, and they can’t get in contact, but Shiro finds a note in the Black Lion when they begin to search. It’s from Keith, and insists he’s fine—just following up on a few leads of his own for the cause.   
  
Shiro’s not sure exactly where he’s gone, although he can take an approximate guess. Keith’s got contacts the rest of them don’t, after all. As frustrating as it is, he lets Keith go, for the moment. He trusts that Keith knows what he’s doing, and following him might not do any good…in fact, it might make things worse. Keith will be back. Shiro has to believe it.  
  
Sure enough, Keith returns a movement and a half later in full Blade uniform. He’s sporting a nasty limp, a split lip, and some bruising from a mission that clearly did not go well, and he won’t say what happened even when Shiro presses for answers. But he also hands off a small drive of data to Pidge almost as soon as he steps out of his little ship.  
  
“Blade intel is solid,” Keith says without preamble. “All sources are researched heavily in advance. Nobody gets involved with the Blade that can’t keep their mouth shut. These candidates are all off the grid and smart as hell. They might be able to figure out what’s wrong with Ryou.”   
  
There’s six potentials in total on the drive—two teams, and four solo scientists, all of whom have been extensively vetted by the Blade of Marmora. It’s a veritable godsend of information. Shiro wonders what Keith had to pay to get it, especially after he’d burned so many bridges with the Blade when Shiro had been trapped in the dream-cage. Keith never goes into detail, not even with Shiro, although Shiro makes it clear he’s always willing to listen.   
  
But the intel is definitely solid, and after more than a feeb of struggling to find answers, they finally start making some progress. The very first of the teams they talk to are cautious until Keith surreptitiously shows off the symbol on his knife, but once they know Voltron is allied with the Blade, the three scientists are more willing to drop their current projects in favor of Voltron’s emergency.  
  
They’re good at what they do. It only takes them a day to understand the building blocks of human genetics, and then they start digging through the data with enthusiasm. Shiro is concerned that they might even be clever enough to call foul on his half-assed fudged story, although Pidge insists they should be fine.   
  
“They have no reason to not believe us,” she insists. “And anyway, all of Ryou’s actual scans just look like projections for _you_ , assuming you got infected with whatever he has.”  
  
That’s not entirely a comforting thought, if Shiro’s honest, but at least there’s no chance at Ryou’s actual nature being identified.   
  
The Blade’s third-party team studies the data for more than a spicolian movement, picking apart every last strand of DNA, every last additional symptom, every little piece of degradation in Ryou’s scans. Shiro is called in twice to provide additional, cleaner samples once the team knows he’s the origin of the baseline DNA acting as their control; they ask for blood and tissue samples and another brain scan with their own equipment.   
  
Shiro hates every second of it—the three of them have virtually no bedside manner, and treat the entire problem with a clinical, cool detachment that is almost eerie and dredges up the shadows of some horrifying memories. But he puts up with it for Ryou’s sake. If better samples and fresh scans give them a better shot at unlocking what’s wrong with him, he’ll deal with it.   
  
And at last, after a movement and a half of anxious waiting, the medical team calls them excitedly and demands that Shiro return to them as soon as possible. They’ve made a discovery they think he should know about.  
  
Shiro doesn’t have to be told twice. The team is in between missions, and he wastes no time leaving as soon as possible. He has Pidge fly them there in the Green Lion, both for her to translate any of the crazier science, and to maintain the medical team’s hidden location with the Lion’s cloaking, and they’re in the lab within three vargas.   
  
“It’s fascinating, really,” the lead scientist, a tall, willowy woman with rubbery green skin and strange horizontal pupils, explains. “The difference between the control data of the black paladin and the experimental projections are minuscule, so it’s very easy to miss. The design is clever, but quite terrifying. Your assumption that it was a biological weapon may be on the mark, Paladin Shiro, assuming the Galra could design a way to distribute it.”   
  
Shiro feels his heart ice over in dread. Pidge adjusts her glasses, and asks with forced professional curiosity, “What is the difference, exactly?’  
  
“It’s here.” The scientist brings up several holographic screens, and places two alongside each other. They illustrate three-dimensional models of the familiar DNA double helix, as well as a host of other gibberish in a language Shiro doesn’t understand. “Very cleverly hidden. Almost impossible to find. Do you see it?”  
  
Shiro doesn’t see anything. Pidge frowns at the displays, and leans closer.  
  
“Here,” the scientist says impatiently. She increases the magnification significantly, and cuts out a slice of the double helix. The two screens look nearly identical still, but after a very long time of staring at the two, Shiro starts to make out very subtle differences in the one area the scientist draws attention to.  
  
“That’s the projected DNA,” Pidge notes, pointing at the screen on the right. “And this is Shiro?”  
  
“Good eye,” the scientist says approvingly. “This is the only difference in several billion base pairs in your odd human genetics. It took quite some time to find it.”   
  
Shiro doesn’t need Pidge’s significant look to understand the importance of the difference. Ryou is supposed to be an identical clone. Perfectly, one-hundred-percent identical. Even one tiny difference is significant, and—based on Ryou’s recent illness—potentially devastating.  
  
“What is fascinating,” the scientist continues, flicking through the screens, “is what this difference _does._ From what we can gather based on our studies so far, instead of containing genetic instructions for maintaining a body, it contains instructions for completely breaking it down. It is, in effect, a biological kill-switch built right into the genetic code of the organism.”   
  
Shiro’s stomach flips uncomfortably. He swears his iced-over heart feels like it cracks.  
  
One of the lead scientist’s partners, a shorter and thicker specimen with slightly darker green rubbery skin, rubs his long three-jointed fingers together nervously. “Such a design is extremely dangerous, of course,” he points out worriedly. “Why, if this is a biological weapon, the Galra have discovered ways to mutate genetic code in pre-existing organisms. That’s quite dangerous. When you discovered this data, did you perhaps discover the way they intended to deliver this weapon? Injection, perhaps, or some sort of machine?”  
  
“It must be their magics,” the third scientist, so pale his green rubbery skin is almost white, says. “Unnatural. Breaks the bounds of science. Think they’re playing gods!”   
  
There’s no such weapon, of course. Not in that way, at least. “We’ve destroyed the initial research, after saving a copy of the data,” Shiro improvises. “It doesn’t look like it got past the theoretical stages and projections.”   
  
The two male scientists sigh visibly in relief. The lead female scoffs. “I told you! I _told_ you. That witch is crazy enough to try anything, but she’s not _that_ good, not yet.”  
  
“No,” Shiro agrees, “But assuming something like this _did_ become a more widely used weapon…would there be a way to cure it?”   
  
“You don’t think there’s a chance of that, do you?” the pale scientist asks, alarmed.  
  
“I like to cover all my bases,” Shiro says firmly. “Better to be prepared for anything.”  
  
The female scientist shrugs. “Admirable, but impossible to cure…not without examining their mechanism for mutating the genetic structure in the first place,” she says.   
  
Which they can’t do, of course, since such a mechanism doesn’t exist. Ryou had effectively been born like this. There was no manipulation to ‘undo.’  
  
“Unless you plan to build an entirely new body for the victim, and transplant their memories and thought processes to it—not impossible, but highly unlikely and extraordinarily complicated—they’re stuck with the body they’re in, and all its genetic modifications,” she continues. She gestures absently to the screens with her long, multi-jointed fingers. “And this one would be difficult to beat. The victim would probably die before you could complete such a task. The breakdown, once it starts, compounds on itself. The body will fall apart steadily more rapidly until they succumb to multiple system failures nearly simultaneously. I estimate perhaps two or three feebs tops, based on the projected data seen here.”   
  
“Good thing it’s all theoretical,” the second scientist says. “The lengths the Galra will go to…absolutely depraved.”   
  
If only they had any idea just how depraved, Shiro thinks, sick with horror. He barely schools his expression to something neutral and professional.  
  
“What do you mean by ‘once it starts?’ “ Pidge asks, frowning.  
  
“That’s the strange thing,” the third scientist says. “We can’t figure out exactly what triggers it, not with less than two movements to study. But this doesn’t activate at the birth of the organism. Or even presumably, once the mutation has been successfully inserted in the organism. All we know for certain is that there’s a possibility it can stay dormant for a certain length of time.” He shrugs.  
  
“Thank you for sharing all this with us,” Shiro says, forcing his voice to stay calm. “If you uncover anything else, don’t hesitate to notify us.”  
  
“Of course,” the lead scientist says. “Fascinating puzzle you brought us, really. Blade work is always an interesting challenge. That’s why we don’t mind working with them.”   
  
“Naturally, since you’re affiliated with the Blade, we will be keeping our mouths shut on anything we discussed,” the pale scientist hastens to reassure. He seems nervous at the thought of crossing them. It’s probably wise.The Blade are valuable allies, but Shiro also has a feeling they don’t take well to traitors, and every last one of them has the skills of an assassin.   
  
“Of course,” Shiro agrees. “We appreciate the discretion. We’ll be in touch if we need your help again.”  
  
Shiro barely maintains his facade of control until they reach the Green Lion, but once safely ensconced in the cabin, and once Pidge is piloting them away as quickly as possible, he feels like screaming. “She _knew,_ ” he snarls under his breath.  
  
“What? That scientist?” Pidge asks, frowning. “About Ryou?”  
  
“No. Haggar,” Shiro hisses, digging his flesh and blood fingers so hard into the back of Pidge’s pilot chair he can feel them going numb. “She _knew_ this could happen. That’s why she did this. That genetic adjustment is a _failsafe_ protocol.”   
  
Pidge’s sharp intake of breath tells him she’s picked up on his thoughts instantly. “In case he went rogue,” she says after a moment. “Which…well, he did.”   
  
“And now he’s paying for it,” Shiro says, disgusted.   
  
Of course Haggar had planned ahead for that. She was an awful, cruel excuse for an Altean, but she wasn’t stupid. Shiro had interacted with her enough for her to _know_ that sending out anything with his personality—even a clone with programmed regulations in his head—still had a chance to rebel. The very nature of the con had left Ryou himself in the dark about what he was, and that meant he had acted fully like Shiro, enough to actively want to defeat the Galra. There was always a chance he could cause more problems for the Galra than the Voltron paladins if he believed in his role too strongly. And if he ever figured out the ruse himself, the chances were almost _guaranteed_ he would rebel against the Galra one way or another.   
  
And he had. He hadn’t been intended to live past Naxzela, once he’d been used to lead the paladins to their doom. But once he had, he’d become a thorn in the Galra’s side. He’d joined team Voltron, for real. He’d led them on missions that Haggar _hadn’t_ pre-scripted into his head, and led them to victory. He’d found Shiro, and saved his life, when Shiro was never supposed to be recovered. He’d helped with a thousand little tasks after.   
  
Haggar wasn’t stupid. She’d known it could happen. She’d known it was a risk from the beginning, sending someone like Shiro to the other side as a trap. And she would never permit team Voltron to gain a valuable ally she herself had designed out of one of her own strategies.   
  
So if her plan couldn’t work, she’d have a contingency. She’d kill her agent when he wasn’t useful.   
  
Ryou had _never_ been intended to be permanent.   
  
“That’s sick,” Pidge says, disgust dripping in her words. “That’s…he’s _alive._ No one should be able to play god like that. That’s _cruel.”_   
  
“That’s Haggar,” Shiro says grimly. “Cross any line for victory. There’s no such thing as boundaries for her.” He shudders despite himself, and is grateful that Pidge his focused on flight enough not to notice.  
  
“Then what do we do?” Pidge asks softly. “They didn’t think there could even be a cure unless they could study how the Galra did it. And we _know_ it isn’t ‘distributed’ like we let them think. Those failsafe genetics were inserted in Ryou when he was born. They can’t just be removed.”   
  
“We’ll find an answer,” Shiro says, far more confidently than he actually feels. “We made progress today. We know what the cause is. We still have five other potentials on the Blade’s drive. We report back to the team, start trying them, and see if anyone else has an idea for how to fix this. We are _not_ giving up on him.”   
  
_Not when he didn’t give up on me. Not when there’s no way in hell he deserves this. Not when he never asked to be made at all, much less made to be disposed of._   
  
The fight is only just getting started. And Shiro doesn’t give up on fights before they’ve even begun.


	5. Chapter 5

The fight does not go as well as Shiro hopes.  
  
Over the next three spicolian movements they move through each of the Blades’ remaining contacts that Keith had obtained. They present them with a copy of the first group’s findings, the same story about a potential bioweapon they’d stolen initial projections for, and instructions to find a cure. All of them return negative results.   
  
“It can’t be fixed,” one says, shaking his head sadly. “Deplorable. It’s a good thing you halted this in the initial stages, before they could really get moving.”  
  
“If you could get me data on the mechanism used to deliver this change, I could study it to perhaps reverse the changes,” another says. “Without that, though…” She lets it hang.  
  
Shiro gets desperate enough to edge closer to the truth with the last of the contacts, the more negatives they hit. “What if one of the victims was born this way?” he asks. “With this modification.”  
  
The med tech seems appalled at the suggestion. “I should hope not even the Galra are dishonorable enough to kill future generations,” she says. “Based on the projections and the data on this genetic mutation, infants and children would have a higher mortality rate and would be affected much more quickly. Perhaps the only consolation is that they would not suffer as long, but that is still too great a loss.” She shakes her head. “Thank you for eradicating this before it could be prepared, paladin. I can see why the Blades trust you.”  
  
Which tells him exactly nothing about how to save _Ryou_ , naturally. Why would any of them ever consider a fully-grown adult human being born with a defect like this, after all? By all reports from all their sources, it’s unlikely for anyone to live past one, maybe two years maximum with this little genetic kill-switch inside of them. The fact that the estimate does also apply to Ryou wouldn’t even occur to them.   
  
They burn through all six contacts with answers but no solutions. The team gathers together in the lounge when Shiro and Pidge return from the last of the Blade’s sources to report on their findings, and once they’ve heard it, they sit in a stunned, heartsick silence.  
  
“And there’s _nothing_ we can do?” Lance asks finally, looking around at the group. “Allura? Coran? Don’t you have any fancy Altean tech that can help now that we know what the problem is?”  
  
But Coran shakes his head. “Frankly, I’m amazed the healing settings on the cryo-pod didn’t kill him, now that we know the cause,” he says solemnly. “The cryo-pods accelerate natural growth and healing, but they would have increased the rate at which this… _failsafe_ coding worked, too.”  
  
“That must have been why the pods never did anything, even when we put him in two or three times a movement,” Pidge says, frowning. “It healed some of the prior damage this thing caused so it seemed like it fixed things for a quintent, but also promoted other damage. That’s why the whole thing was a wash.”  
  
“Highly likely,” Allura admits. “I am so sorry…if I had known the pods could hurt him—“  
  
“None of us knew,” Shiro interrupts. “It’s nobody’s fault. Not as long as the _current_ pod he’s in isn’t hurting him any.”  
  
“It isn’t,” Coran confirms. “I checked again to be sure after we first learned what caused all this. There’s no healing whatsoever. He’s completely frozen, neither getting better nor worse.”   
  
“But that still doesn’t answer the question,” Hunk says. “Is there _anything_ we can do?” He eyes Keith anxiously. “Do you think you could get more names?”  
  
Keith’s lips press together in a thin line before he says softly, “No. No, I…if I could, I would, I swear. But I don’t think that’s going to work again.” He doesn’t say anything else, and he looks so grim and so deeply frustrated with himself over that answer that no one pushes it.   
  
Lance rubs his face with his hands. “There’s got to be _something,_ ” he says helplessly. “We’ve gotten so far! We know what it is, we figured it out and Ryou’s still alive. It can’t end like _this.”_  
  
He’s not wrong. It can’t end like this. Setting his jaw, Shiro rises to his feet wordlessly and heads for the door.   
  
“Shiro?” Allura calls, surprised. “Shiro—where are you going?”  
  
“The Black Lion’s hangar,” he says.   
  
There’s momentary silence behind him as the group processes, and then a sudden mad scramble behind him as the others start to follow after. “But where are you _going_ in the Black Lion?” Keith asks, a touch frantic.   
  
“I’m calling in the big guns,” Shiro says. “I’m heading to Olkarion.”

* * *

  
  
“Please,” Shiro says, not bothering to conceal the edge of desperation in his voice. “I need you to find an answer to this.”   
  
The big guns are actually, in fact, one gun, and small enough to sit on Shiro’s shoulders. Well. Wrap around them, really. And quite frankly, if Slav can actually fix this, Shiro is more than willing to give him shoulder rides for the rest of his life or Slav’s, whichever comes first.  
  
Slav’s field of expertise isn’t biology exactly, as far as Shiro knows. Most people who know him seem to know him for things like his gravity generator, which is about as far from molecular biology and genetics as one can get. But according to the Blade back when they’d first mounted their rescue mission, he _had_ also been captured to torture him into designing, amongst other things, genetic modifications that could be used for the Galra. And Slav was one of the best the Blade had at its disposal—enough to devote an entire prison to, and enough to plan an entire operation around rescuing him. He is, by all accounts, a genius—if anybody can wrest even the _tiniest_ chance for success out of this situation, it will be Slav.  
  
Even more importantly, to Shiro at least, Slav can be trusted with the _full_ extent of the situation. Despite his many, _many_ eccentricities and irritating habits, Slav is actually quite capable of keeping a secret—the Galra had literally had to torture information out of him because there was no other way to get it. And Slav had been present prior to Ryou’s arrival, meaning he is already well aware Shiro doesn’t have an identical twin. There won’t be any need to invent cover stories and dodge around important facts.  
  
Of course, the attempt comes with problems, too. Slav can be particular, and difficult to convince of doing anything if he sees no benefit or personal interest in it. His constant fixation with realities and inability to remember which one he’s in at any given moment can make him unfocused and easily distracted. There’s probably a hundred reasons Shiro can’t even begin to think of as to why Slav might be completely adverse to the project. If he gets it into his head that treating Ryou is on the same level as spilled water or quantum-reality bending cracks, Shiro will have a difficult time getting Slav to participate. His solutions can be… _unconventional_ , and sometimes detrimental to the actual desired outcome.   
  
And even if he manages to bypass all of that, there’s a strong chance Slav doesn’t know anything at all about the subject matter, or not enough to make any difference where even experts in the field could find nothing. All the frustration of dealing with him could be all for nothing.  
  
Still, Shiro will risk the frustration a hundred times over for this. Ryou’s life is on the line. It’s worth it. He’d even considered Slav from the beginning, and put it off not because of the annoyance of dealing with him, but because he’d have preferred experts in the field first and foremost. He’s out of experts, and he’s willing to risk Slav’s unconventional eccentricities over nothing at all.  
  
Assuming he can get Slav to play along, anyway.   
  
“This is important,” Shiro says. “A life is on the line, and you may be the only person that can save it.”  
  
Most people respond to that sort of plea, be it out of a desire to help or out of pride from the praise. Not Slav. The engineer merely stares at him for a long moment, before offering an indifferent shrug with his topmost pair of arms.  
  
Frustrating, but considering how unwilling he’d been to join in on his own prison break, despite being tortured, Shiro is hardly surprised. That’s why he’d come prepared to bargain.  
  
“What will it take to make this happen?” he asks, forcing patience into his voice. “This is extremely important to us. Whatever supplies you need, I’ll get you. I will buff out every crack in your lab _and_ your home if I have to. I will paint every single surface blue. I’ll get you moved to a place far away from water. Whatever it takes. But _please._ Find a solution to this.”   
  
Slav’s ears perk up at that. “Those things sound _excellent,”_ he says. “There are too many cracks around my lab. These people have _no_ respect for mothers. And the water is _dripping!_ There is a pipe installed in the ground six point two five feet below the surface and exactly thirteen point five feet from my northwest wall for the refugees, and I estimate a forty-five point six two seven percent chance that it will burst in the event of seismic activity. If that happens there is an eighty percent chance that my lab will be flooded and a _sixty-five_ percent chance that I could _drown_ and that is unacceptable!”  
  
Shiro takes a moment to try and absorb the rush of information, and then says, “Olkarion doesn’t have seismic activity. There’s no plate tectonics.” He’d asked, after seeing the massive rock formation like a halo around the planet’s surface.   
  
Slav darts in close enough to snag Shiro’s collar and drag him down to eye level, bristling in a panic. “But they _move things!”_ he hisses in alarm. “Entire ground systems made of metal or plant material _move!_ They expand the buildings and rearrange things _constantly_ for the refugees! The chance for artificial seismic activity is well over seventy-five percent when accounting for variables like—“  
  
“Okay! Okay, I believe you,” Shiro says, detaching two of Slav’s arms from his collar with a soft hiss. “I’ll talk to Ryner, and have you moved somewhere less…active and potentially wet. Fair?”  
  
“Blue would be excellent for luck,” Slav says. “It has the finest range of terahertz. And I would like to look at your robot arm.”  
  
Shiro can feel his eye starting to twitch, but fights it back. _For Ryou. This is all for Ryou._ “Excuse me?”  
  
“Your robot arm is very strong,” Slav says, staring at Shiro’s artificial limb. “I would like to study some of its components. It increases your percentage for survival significantly. I would like to isolate which components increase survivability the most.”   
  
Shiro clenches his jaw so hard he can feel his teeth grinding, but after a moment says, “Fine.” He jerks his Galra arm back when Slav takes a step towards it. “ _After_ you find a solution, and _only_ observation. No taking it apart. I need it.” And it’s going to be difficult enough as it is to let Slav poke and prod at it.   
  
_Saving Ryou’s life. Worth it._  
  
Slav sighs, but nods. He swarms up onto Shiro’s shoulders without invitation, but Shiro has learned to expect this and braces for it almost automatically. “Insert the data,” he instructs, gesturing to the nearest computer banks. “Let me see what the probability of actually finding a solution is.”  
  
Shiro does, not bothering to hide his relief that they’ve finally moved on to the actual topic at hand. The drive in his hand has all of the discoveries made by all the other experts, and Shiro brings up the first image of the side-by-side comparison of his DNA to Ryou’s. “This is me,” he says, pointing at the first image. “This is Ryou.”   
  
Slav leans forward on Shiro’s shoulder with interest, using his lowest pair of arms to brace while the rest of him slithers out into midair, closer to the screen. “This is another organism?” he asks, puzzled. “This is nearly identical.”  
  
“Yeah. Well. There’s a reason for that,” Shiro says. “He’s my clone.”  
  
Slav’s tail contracts around Shiro’s waist as the engineer starts in surprise. “A _clone?”_ he hisses, incredulous. “The potential for you to have a clone in any reality is less than five percent. It is _highly_ unlikely. You are sure this is a clone? A _living_ clone?” He points insistently at the second screen with his topmost pair of arms.   
  
“Yes,” Shiro says. “And we aim to keep it that way, which is why we—“  
  
“Who _made_ this clone?” Slav interrupts, retreating back to Shiro’s shoulders and swiveling his head to stare at Shiro hard from the side. “There are about sixteen possible creators with the appropriate technology in over ninety percent of all realities.”   
  
Shiro winces. He’d been hoping to avoid the specifics, but once Slav is onto the scent of something, he won’t let it go until he has an answer…mostly because an answer is so intrinsic to his probabilities. “The Galra did,” he answers shortly. “I realize that might be something you’re uncomfortable with, but—“  
  
“He’s _wrong,”_ Slav interrupts.  
  
Shiro bristles at that. “He is _completely_ safe, and an ally against the Galra now. He’s sick. He didn’t ask for that. We need you to—“  
  
“He was made _wrong,”_ Slav interrupts again, ignoring Shiro’s lecture. “This Galra science is fundamentally unsound. A clone is identical. _Identical._ One hundred percent of the time! He is _not_ identical. That is _wrong._ You are supposed to be _the same.”_ Slav scowls at the screen, glaring at the one tiny detail that technically makes Ryou not-exactly-the-same.  
  
Shiro chokes to a halt in mid-lecture, and actually stares for a second before managing to school his expression. Slav, thankfully, doesn’t notice, although even if he had he suspects he wouldn’t care. _That_ was the problem? Shiro had expected rants over the likelihood that Ryou was a cold-blooded murder weapon, or maybe lectures on his chances of actually being from an alternate reality…not irritability over their symmetry, or lack thereof.   
  
Still, he can work with this. It’s rare that one of Slav’s particularities ever works in is favor, but he’ll be damned if he lets the opportunity slip past. “Yes,” Shiro agrees. “He’s not the same as me at all. And that’s sort of the problem. We need you to fix that.” He points at Ryou’s screen. “That’s killing him by—“  
  
“Accelerating breakdown in the organism, until all organs and systems are rendered unsustainable,” Slav cuts him off, flicking through several other screens with a free pair of hands. “Yes, of course. The chances of death are exceedingly high—ninety-nine point two six five percent.”  
  
Shiro feels his heart clench—but that number isn’t perfect, and he feels the tiniest bit of hope. “I notice that’s not one hundred percent.”  
  
“Of courses not,” Slav says, scowling at Shiro. He seems irritated that Shiro even bothered to question his percentages. “There is a possibility of survival in a very small number of realities, if this does not activate.”  
  
Shiro’s hope falls immediately. “it’s already activated in Ryou,” he says. “He doesn’t have that chance. And it’s not even supposed to be there, like you said. Is there _anything_ else you can do to help him? Removing it or changing it to match mine or… _something?_ Does he have any chance to survive this…any chance at all?”  
  
“In _this_ reality?” Slav asks.  
  
“Yes,” Shiro bites out. “In this reality. Where he is. Right now.”  
  
He waits with his heart in his throat, holding his breath, as Slav leans towards the screens again and flicks through them quickly. The engineer seems hyper-focused on the information, and as the ticks stretch into a full dobosh Shiro has to bite his tongue to keep himself from interrupting that focus.  
  
But at last Slav pulls back from the screens again, and folds several of his hands back into his pockets. “Perhaps,” he admits. “Perhaps as much as five point six three percent, if proper variables are in place…” The engineer slithers to the ground from Shiro’s shoulders, muttering to himself as he settles in front of the screens.  
  
Shiro feels his struggling hopes raise again, just a tad. “That’s not zero,” he says. “I’ll take it. What do you need? Supplies? Data? I can have you on the Castle if you need to observe him—whatever it takes.”  
  
“I need a lab that does not have an eighty percent chance of flooding,” Slav says, surprisingly pointed. He shoots Shiro a look, and adds, “That naturally raises the chances that I lose my experimentation and data for this project by ninety-three point two percent, and if I _drown_ the chances of success are _zero.”_   
  
“Okay, I get it,” Shiro says, a little exasperated. “Ryner is my next stop. I’ll get you moved as soon as possible. Think about this while I’m doing that, okay? It’s important.”  
  
“Of course it’s _important,”_ Slav says. “He’s _wrong.”_ Slav seems personally affronted by the difference, however intentional that ‘wrongness’ may have been. “Now go away.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Go away. You are _distracting,”_ Slav says. He makes a shooing motion with two sets of hands, and then returns to the data. Already, his topmost hands are flicking through the screens again, while a lower set of hands is typing up rapid notes in a language Shiro doesn’t recognize.   
  
Far be it from Shiro to be distracting. If leaving makes Slav work on fixing Ryou faster, he’ll be _happy_ to make himself scarce. He exits the lab and sets out to hunt down Ryner to see about moving Slav’s location. The quicker he’s comfortable, the better his chances of finding a way to save Ryou. 

* * *

  
  
In the end, they have to get Slav moved to his new location before he stops being distracted enough by the possibility of his own impending doom to actually seriously research the problem. It takes Ryner almost four quintents to find a suitable location for Slav’s many, _many_ requirements, and to build a living space to his exact specifications. But in the end they manage to get Slav situated. The workspace is far from any running water, artificial or otherwise, and isolated enough to suit his more reclusive nature, while still close enough to remain within the safety of the main city.   
  
It’s a frustrating delay, but in the end well worth it. Once Slav feels safe, and his anxieties are alleviated, he works with an intensity that’s almost alarming. Shiro doesn’t remember seeing much of him at work during the battle with Zarkon—he’d been so busy coordinating the entire strategy as a whole he’d barely been present when Slav had worked on his massive gravity generator for the Castle. But once Slav has an interesting puzzle in his (many) hands, he seems incapable of letting it go until he’s solved it.   
  
Shiro checks in every quintent to see how he’s doing—for the time being, he’s taken up temporary residence on Olkarion while Keith handles Voltron missions with the Lion. He’d done it to keep Slav on track, but it turns out he needn’t have bothered. Slav usually confirms he’s still looking at the challenge, and then immediately tells Shiro to get lost.   
  
On the fourth quintent, though, he doesn’t. “It can’t be removed,” Slav says, almost as soon as Shiro steps through the door.   
  
Shiro’s gotten used to the complete lack of an actual greeting, but today’s first words are heartbreaking. “Not at all?” he asks. There’s more pain in his voice than he’d care to show normally, but Slav won’t notice, and…and _nothing_ they can do? Nothing at all?  
  
“I have looked at everything,” Slav agrees. His irritation is evident in the way all of his hands are wringing at each other, and in the way he paces restlessly. “There is simply no way to force them to match in a pre-existing organism. It is _wrong._ Clones are supposed to be _identical._ It is an imperfection in an otherwise exceptionally recreated clone. There is a zero percent chance the genetic imperfection can be repaired. It will will be there for the rest of his life.”   
  
Which won’t be that long, unfortunately. Shiro swallows. He can’t just leave Ryou frozen in a cryo-pod for the rest of his life, but when ‘the rest of his life’ will only consist of a week and a half at best…god. What a choice. “So…we’re going to lose him,” Shiro says quietly.  
  
Slav stares at him. “Lose him? Did you put him somewhere and forget?”  
  
“What? No, I…it’s an expression,” Shiro says. He should be irritated, but his heart feels too heavy to care. “It’s…he’s going to die.”   
  
Slav only continues to stare. “Die? Why would he _die?_ Is there a variable you’ve failed to report to me? This is very critical! You cannot just _withhold_ information!”   
  
Shiro can feel his face going through a _number_ of expressions rapidly—shock, confusion, anger. “You—you said you can’t fix it! And you know if that thing is there it will kill him!”   
  
“I said it can’t be _removed,”_ Slav corrects. “Or _replaced,_ which is exceedingly unacceptable! It means he will never be _actually identical_ like he is supposed to be as a clone. Asymmetry between the two of you is not supposed to happen! You are already asymmetrical as it _is_ with only one robot arm—imagine the increased probability for increased dangerous scenarios for him as an individual! I estimate his chances of injury or danger go up by at _least_ three percent, and when the two of you are in _proximity_ and not identical it goes as high as _seven!”_  
  
Shiro stares at him for a long moment. His mind feels too numb to properly absorb Slav’s rambling, too stunned by the words to react. After a very long moment, he finally remembers where he is, and manages to stammer, “That’s okay, we’ll risk it. But this failsafe won’t kill him? Even if you can’t take it out?”  
  
“Of course not,” Slav says, folding his hands back into his many pockets. He looks more perplexed than anything else at Shiro’s inability to follow along. “If survival is the goal, removing it is the wrong answer anyway. Just activate the functionality that maintains its dormancy. I ran the numbers—assuming the correct signaling method is found, odds are survival are ninety six point five five three percent.”   
  
The words seem to come impossibly slowly to Shiro’s brain. He runs through them a second time, but they still don’t make sense, and finally he says weakly, “What?”  
  
Slav sighs in what Shiro _swears_ is exasperation, and darts forward to swarm up on Shiro’s shoulders again. Shiro’s so surprised by Slav’s words he nearly pitches over, but manages to correct himself in time. “Computers,” Slav orders, pointing, and Shiro blankly walks forward until they’re at the screens.  
  
Slav swipes through several displays until he finds a complicated new screen with a lot of jargon in another language Shiro can’t quite make out. it does have an image of the double helix though, which Slav points out. “Standard format,” Slav says, pointing at the image. He speaks very slowly, like Shiro is a little too stupid to pick up on the words, and then flicks to the next screen. “Here is the failsafe mechanism when activated. That’s how it is now.” He flicks back to the first screen. “But it stays dormant like this until a certain period of time. Approximately one decafeeb, based on my calculations.”  
  
Shiro’s shock slowly begins to wear off as does some quick counting in his head. From the point Ryou had been permitted to escape to now…between his months of thinking he still was Shiro, two months of searching for the real Shiro, and the months of Shiro’s recovery after he’d been rescued, it _had_ been about one year of Ryou being with them before he’d started showing signs of being ill. They’d been the subtle little things and hard to spot, but they _had_ been there.   
  
“Okay,” he acknowledges. “That sounds about right, based on our timing.”  
  
“Of course it does,” Slav says with ill-concealed superiority, poorly masked with an unpracticed attempt to praise him, like Shiro’s particularly dense student getting a particularly simple task right. “At that point, it triggers, unless given other instructions.”  
  
“Other…instructions?” Shiro asks slowly.  
  
“Yes,” Slav agrees. “I am still determining if it is chemical, electrical, or magical in nature, but there appears to be a way to instruct it to remain dormant. So for him to continue surviving, although it will technically be active, it just has to be instructed to act as though dormant. Even if he _will_ continue to remain _not_ identical,” Slav finishes, with distaste.   
  
Shiro frowns at that. It _does_ make some degree of sense, if he thinks about Ryou from the Galra perspective. He’d be a valuable weapon that they’d invested a great deal into. Naxzela had been intended to kill them all, but if it hadn’t, and Ryou hadn’t figured out the ruse, he could easily be coded to continue the charade. Shiro had been safely in Galra custody—it wasn’t as though he would ever have shown up to disprove it.   
  
There had probably been something in Ryou’s head to put him close enough to the Galra that he could be successfully retaken without understanding what was happening. All they had to do was have Ryou be ‘captured,’ reset the clock on his genetic time bomb, and put more scripted missions and ways to lead the team towards a Galra victory in his head. Then the Galra could drop enough clues to the rest of the paladins for a ‘rescue’ mission, make it just difficult enough to rescue him to be believable, and their sleeper agent was back in position. Haggar could in theory keep going as many times as she’d wanted to. But if he _didn’t_ come back, if there was no longer a way to control him, then she could let that self-destruct activate once it became clear they’d lost their weapon—and keep it from falling into enemy hands.  
  
It was twisted. It was cruel. But it was something they could use to save Ryou, now.   
  
“Can you make whatever it is that turns it off?” Shiro asks. “Tell it to stop activating?”  
  
“I am still determining its exact nature,” Slav says. “But I believe there is an eighty-seven point two three percent chance I can discover it, and design a new protocol to maintain its dormancy.”  
  
“Good,” Shiro says. “Do it.” And when Slav still looks displeased, he adds, “We’ll figure out a way to deal with the whole not identical thing. But he has to be alive so we can do that.”  
  
Slav grumbles, but nods.  
  
“That takes care of the failsafe,” Shiro says. “But what about the damage he’s already taken? The pods didn’t seem to heal anything, partly because this thing was still active while he was in them.”  
  
“Altean technology is sometimes very efficient, and sometimes not at all,” Slav agrees sagely. “Why do they like ziplines so much? They are _completely_ impractical. They have hover technology that would increase their efficiency by at least fifteen percent—“  
  
“Slav,” Shiro cuts in, through clenched teeth. “Pods. Ryou.”  
  
“Oh! Yes! One will have to be modified, I think,” Slav says. “To account for the modifications and perhaps apply the dormant protocol…but the solutions will vary depending on the form of delivery—“ He slithers down off of Shiro’s shoulders, already returning to his work, freshly absorbed in the new direction.   
  
Shiro lets him be, after five doboshes of standing there being completely ignored. Slav has a possible solution in sight. It’s only a matter of time, and Shiro has no intention of interrupting him.   
  
A theoretical solution is a far cry from an actual one, apparently, because it takes Slav almost three spicolian movements to actually design something he’s satisfied with. It involves the paladins obtaining a number of strange ingredients and tools on a number of odd missions, to start. And Slav scraps at least five iterations of his solutions, muttering about low probabilities and the likelihood for extreme disfigurement, pain or death…usually with numbers far higher than Shiro would like.   
  
Normally Slav’s death predictions are over the top, but Shiro listens carefully this time. The last thing he wants is for a cure of Ryou’s to backfire spectacularly, and hurt him in a completely different way.  
  
But at last he has a solution, and then comes the ‘fun’ part for all of them—when he moves into the Castle of Lions for another two spicolian movements as he helps Coran retrofit one of the cryo-pods for Ryou’s use specifically. It involves a lot of rambling, a lot of peculiar requests, and a _lot_ of Coran muttering things that Shiro’s pretty sure are not for polite company under his breath as he does his best to work with the engineer.  
  
“At least you can’t hear all of this,” Shiro mutters to his clone, as he leans against Ryou’s current frozen pod and supervises. “You’re lucky. Trust me.”  
  
Ryou doesn’t answer, but Shiro can’t help but smile a little as he glances over at his clone’s sleeping face. Ryou looks just as awful as he did the day he went into the pod, but soon he’ll be able to come out again, and _live._   
  
“Just hang on a little longer,” he promises. “We’re almost there, Ryou.”  
  
And then at last, at _last,_ comes the day when everything is ready. Slav is finally satisfied with his work, and his dire predictions of unfortunate scenarios have low enough probabilities that Shiro isn’t as concerned. Ryou’s personalized cryo-pod is ready, and Slav’s dormancy protocol—a specialized medication—has been prepared enough in advance that they have enough to last them weeks. Coran is already setting up the Castle to synthesize more. Everything is as prepared as it ever will be.   
  
Now all they need is to implement it.  
  
Everyone is excited about the prospect of Ryou waking again and getting better, but like before, Shiro has most of them wait outside of the infirmary on the day they intend to wake Ryou. Everyone is eager to see him, but for Ryou, only a few minutes will have passed since he was last conscious. He’s still in a terrible state, and so many people would be too overwhelming for him to handle. Only Coran and Shiro will be present.   
  
Even Slav, despite creating most of the medication and protocols they’ll be using, has been banned from entry after instructing Coran in their usage. His presence would _definitely_ be far too stressful for Ryou. Slav is fortunately more than happy to _not_ be around Shiro and his not-identical clone, and mutters something about proximity causing more chances for danger as he leaves.   
  
The rest of the team is disappointed, but understanding.   
  
“But we’ll get to see him after the treatments start to take effect, right?” Lance asks. “He should remember us by then, right?” The rest look hopeful.  
  
“He should, and yes,” Shiro promises. “But let’s let him go at his pace for this.”  
  
“That is acceptable,” Allura agrees. “But if possible, tell him we wish him a swift recovery.”   
  
“If I can, I will,” Shiro says.   
  
Everything in the infirmary has been prepared in advance, to keep Ryou as comfortable as possible while administering the cure. Coran has moved an examination table in for him to rest on, but covered it with a blanket and several pillows for comfort. There are more blankets waiting, and Allura had been kind enough to raise the temperature in the room by several degrees. All the medications and treatments have been prepared, and Ryou’s specialized pod is open and waiting. Ryou’s current pod has already been rotated to be horizontal again, so he doesn’t risk falling out when he wakes.  
  
Shiro takes his place near the occupied pod, and nods to Coran by the controls. “Go ahead.”  
  
Coran nods solemnly, and adjusts several items on the controls. The front of the pod shimmers for a moment, and slowly melts away in little sparks of light, releasing a soft hiss of cool air and escaping gas. Shiro waves it away with his Galra hand, staring down at the pod’s occupant.  
  
Back when they’d first found Allura and Coran, both of them had woken from the sleep-chamber setting almost instantly. Ryou takes a few extra ticks, heaving a rattling, weary sigh before struggling to open his eyes. He’s still blind, and his gaze flicks back and forth in alarm as he tries to make something out through the disorienting after-effects of the sleep stasis.   
  
“Hey,” Shiro says, reaching down to gently cover Ryou’s only remaining hand with his own real one. “Ryou, easy. It’s okay. You’re safe. Everything’s safe.”  
  
Ryou freezes for a moment at the touch, and Shiro can all but see his weary mind struggling to put the details together. God, he’s so sick…but they’re going to fix that. After a moment Ryou finally seems to recognize the speaker, and whispers softly, “Shiro?”  
  
“Yeah. I’m here.” Shiro smiles a little weakly, even if Ryou can’t see it. “Just like I promised, remember?”  
  
“I…” Ryou frowns, struggling to do just that. But he must remember eventually, because after a moment he nods. “Time?” he asks a moment later. His voice shakes slightly with trepidation.   
  
“It’s been a little over four months,” Shiro admits. “I’m sorry it took so long. But we have something, Ryou.” He squeezes his clone’s hand gently, the barest touch, enough to reassure without bruising. “We’ve got a way to help you.”  
  
Ryou seems stunned at the words. “How?” he whispers, disbelieving.  
  
“There’s a lot to explain,” Shiro says. “And I want you to understand it so you can decide if that’s what you want. But we can get you more comfortable first. Okay?”  
  
Ryou swallows. “Yes. Please.” He struggles to lift himself off the pod backing, but he’s skin and bone and missing an arm, and barely lifts himself an inch or two before collapsing back with a wince.  
  
“Hey, take it easy,” Shiro chastises gently. “Let me help you with that. You still need to save your strength.” He helps Ryou sit up, and then slides his arms behind his back and under his knees to lift him. He can feel almost immediately how much his clone his shivering. “Cold?” he guesses carefully.   
  
“Yes,” Ryou whispers.  
  
“No problem,” Shiro says. “We’ve got some blankets right over here. We’ll get you settled in warmly and then we can talk about your cure.”  
  
Ryou grunts tiredly in acknowledgement as Shiro walks across the infirmary towards the blanket-covered examination table. Halfway there, though, Ryou shifts slightly, and murmurs, “No dreams.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“No dreams,” Ryou repeats. He frowns. “Thought…did I promise? If…”  
  
“Oh. Oh. No, no, you’re right, I did ask you to tell me how that worked out,” Shiro reassures hastily. “You’re remembering right. Sorry. It’s been four months for me. I’m glad it was comfortable at least.”  
  
Ryou grunts in acknowledgment again, but seems faintly relieved that he had managed to remember something right. He lets Shiro settle him down on the table, and gratefully burrows into the three additional blankets Shiro wraps around him, shivering and curled on his side.   
  
“Comfortable?” Shiro asks.  
  
Ryou makes an unintelligible groan, and after a moment whispers so low Shiro can barely hear him, “Dying…”  
  
“Not anymore, you’re not,” Shiro says, a little more sharply than intended. He bites his tongue to force himself to calm, and then adds more gently, “Is there anything else I can do to make you more comfortable? Before I start explaining.”   
  
“No.” Ryou sighs. His shivering is already lessening, enough that he crawls his remaining hand just out of the safety of the blankets, feeling around weakly since he can’t see.  
  
Shiro wordlessly puts his own hand on the blanketed table, and Ryou’s hand blunders into it and curls around it like a lifeline. No restraints, warmth, and proof that he’s not alone—basically anything and everything Shiro can provide to make the experience as unlike the Galra memories they both have as possible.  
  
Shiro accepts the hover chair that Coran silently pushes over to him with a grateful nod, so that he can sit next to his clone comfortably. “Okay. This is a little complicated, but I’ll try to simplify it. If you’re confused, tell me, okay? It’s your life. You make the calls. Got it?”  
  
“Yes,” Ryou says.   
  
“Alright,” Shiro says. He’s been thinking carefully on how to explain this to Ryou for days now, and launches into the explanation smoothly. “There’s a change to your genetic code that means you’re not exactly the same as me. It’s supposed to make you get very sick like this, unless the Galra take you back and reset it.”   
  
Ryou shudders, and Shiro turns his own hand over to squeeze his clone’s fingers gently in reassurance. “Hey. It’s okay. You’re not going back. I’m not letting that happen.”   
  
Ryou accepts his promise, at least for the moment. “Cure?” he asks.  
  
“Yes,” Shiro says. “We figured out how to…well, block it from working, is the best way to put it. It’s already active, but Slav developed a kind of medication that keeps it from realizing that, so it won’t do anything.”  
  
“Slav?” Ryou asks, confused.  
  
“Er…he’s a scientist that works with us sometimes.” Shiro can’t help but smile weakly.“If there’s one blessing in all of this, you’ve forgotten how annoying he is.”  
  
Ryou doesn’t seem convinced by this, and frowns deeply. At first, Shiro thinks he’s just upset at forgetting again. But after a moment he slurs weakly, “…saving m’life,” in what Shiro swears is his best attempt at a lecturing, disapproving tone.   
  
Shiro snorts. “You’re right. I’m sorry. No bad-mouthing him for the future, we owe him one.”   
  
Ryou seems mollified by this, so Shiro continues. “The treatments have to be injections at first. There will be a few we’ll need to give you today to help you start to get better, and at first they’ll have to be every day. It might feel a little uncomfortable, but it’s completely safe, and I’ll be here the whole time. Okay?”  
  
Ryou doesn’t look entirely happy about it, but he nods. Shiro doesn’t blame him. He’d had enough of being poked and prodded with needles with the Galra that he’d prefer to avoid it if he can. Ryou’s memories are unreliable and mixed up, but he does still seem to have an understanding of clone procedure, and Shiro’s sure it’s just as full of unwanted needles.   
  
“Once you get more used to them, we might be able to roll it back to once a week,” Shiro adds. “And once you can handle solids again, Slav says it can be changed to a pill form, instead of shots. That’ll be a little easier. With me so far?”  
  
Ryou grunts softly in acknowledgement.   
  
“That’s just to stop this from happening,” Shiro continues. “You’re still pretty sick. Once we give you some of the initial injections we’ll need to put you back in a cryo-pod for a bit to heal the damage.” Ryou starts trembling at that, and Shiro immediately squeezes his hand again, and rubs the back of it soothingly with his thumb. “Hey, sssh, easy. It’s okay. It’s not storage, Ryou. It’s just to make you feel better. You’ll be waking up again, and you’ll feel a lot better, this time. And I’ll be there then, too, just like now.”  
  
Ryou’s trembling doesn’t really stop, but he doesn’t immediately protest. “How long?” he rasps, voice shaking.  
  
“Maybe a week,” Shiro says. “We don’t even have to do the pod right away, not if you’re not comfortable with it yet. We could wait another day, if you need to. But you’ll feel like this while you wait.”  
  
Ryou groans at that, and squeezes his eyes shut. Neither choice is preferred, clearly.  
  
Shiro moves on. That’s a choice they can come back to. “You should feel better after, but there’ll be some physical therapy and recovery to deal with. That will probably take months. And you’ll have to take the medication for the rest of your life. But as long as you do, this shouldn’t happen again.”   
  
Ryou is silent for a long time. Shiro gives him a chance to try and absorb it all. It’s so much detail, even pared down as much as Shiro could manage, and Ryou at this stage struggles to take in and retain new information. Shiro can tell he’s fighting very hard to try and stay on track, and lets him make the attempt. He’ll help where he can.   
  
He waits about five doboshes, and then squeezes Ryou’s fingers carefully again. “Still with me?”  
  
“Mm…”  
  
“Okay. Did you understand what I said?”  
  
Ryou has to think about it for a bit, but eventually summarizes in a whisper, “Sick. Shots. Pods. Hurt less…”  
  
Not bad, considering. “Good job. And are you okay with that?”  
  
Ryou is silent for another long couple of doboshes. Critical thinking is difficult for him, even having managed to absorb the basic idea. But eventually he nods. “Yes. Trust your call.”  
  
Shiro wishes he knew if Ryou was trusting him because he was actually _choosing_ to trust him, or if it’s because he’s still parroting Shiro’s decisions. Either way, that’s something they can work on later. He seems ready to deal with the procedure, if somewhat reluctantly. Shiro doesn’t begrudge him the nervousness. He’d probably be, too. He’ll do what he can to alleviate that.   
  
“Okay,” Shiro agrees. “Thanks for trusting us, Ryou. We need to do the injections right away, alright? Coran’s going to help us with that part. Then when we’re done, you can decide if you want to do the pod right away, or wait a day. That’s completely up to you.”   
  
“Okay,” Ryou whispers.  
  
Coran takes that as his cue to step forward, motioning for the small hovering tray with the treatments to follow. “Let’s take care of this nice and quickly then, yes?” he says. Ryou startles slightly at his voice, and Coran immediately lowers it. “My apologies, Ryou. Didn’t mean to surprise you. Do you remember me?”  
  
Ryou blinks once, and his brows pull together into a frown. After a moment he seems to curl in on himself as he whispers dejectedly, “Sorry…”   
  
So that’s a no, then. Shiro winces a little at that. Ryou seems to know he’s _supposed_ to know Coran, but the fact that he can’t is disappointing, to both himself and to Shiro.  
  
 _It’s alright,_ Shiro reminds himself. _We’re working on that right now. This will all be over soon._   
  
“That’s quite alright,” Coran reassures, with remarkable patience. “I’m Coran. I’ll be helping with the treatments. Are you ready to get started?”  
  
Ryou hesitates, but then mutters, “Yes.” But he also struggles to push himself up off the table. He doesn’t get very far. The blankets are tangled around him, his one arm isn’t strong enough to bear his weight, and there’s something wrong with his hips, enough that he can’t lever himself up into position.   
  
Shiro gets it, though. The last thing he’d want is to be laid out on a table while somebody’s poking him full of sharp objects. He helps ease Ryou into a sit, and hops up to sit on the table next to him, letting Ryou lean into his left side for support. Ryou mutters weakly in thanks.   
  
And it’s funny to Shiro, but really, this entire situation just feels so… _different_ from what he could have possibly imagined. Never in a million years could have have envisioned himself willingly sitting on a medical table with a tray full of needles in a med bay, but here he is, still here in the moment. He’s the only support Ryou has for this, an it’s like it somehow gives him the strength to push back all of his own issues to do so.   
  
Strange, how that works.  
  
Coran works quickly and efficiently to prepare the treatments. There are five in all—three of them the dormancy agent’s initial foundation in Ryou’s system, and two for assisting with other aspects of healing, since Ryou’s system has been so badly broken down. He rambles lightly the entire time about his glory days in the Altean military, pausing only to warn every time he’s about to actually administer one of the injections via Ryou’s left arm.  
  
The first causes Ryou to tense, and Shiro can all but see the fight of flight response building. He wouldn’t get far, not in his state, but his instinct is still to try. “Everything’s fine,” Shiro assures immediately. “Everything’s safe. This is all going to make you feel better, I promise.” Ryou relaxes, and the impulse to bolt or fight his way free gradually fades.  He takes the other four injections with relative calm, leaning wearily against Shiro’s side.   
  
“All done,” Coran finally announces, as he puts the last of the slim, efficient Altean needles aside. “Not bad at all. Those should take effect within about half a varga, and prevent the failsafe genetics from causing further damage.”   
  
“Great. Thanks, Coran.” Shiro nudges Ryou gently with his left elbow, where his clone is still propped against him. “Okay, Ryou. Up to you. We can do the pod now—when you get out, you should feel a lot better. Or if you need a break we can take a day, first. You won’t get worse, but you’ll probably still feel like this.”   
  
Ryou shudders against him once, but after a moment echoes his words from months ago…even if he probably doesn’t remember them. “Want to stop hurting…”  
  
“Then you’re okay with the pod?” Shiro clarifies, very carefully.   
  
Ryou is silent for a moment, but then nods into his shoulder. “Get it over with,” he mutters. After a moment, he frowns, and clarifies hesitantly, “Not…storage…right?”  
  
“No,” Shiro says. “No, absolutely not. It’ll help you feel better. You’ll wake up in a week, and I’ll be there to welcome you back. Promise.”  
  
Ryou nods again. “Do it,” he says.   
  
So they do. Like before, Shiro carries him, this time to the new pod especially modified for him. He helps Ryou settle in and unwraps him from the blankets. “Just a regular cryo-pod sleep, this time,” he says. “But you’ll feel way better when you get out.”  
  
Ryou grunts in displeasure. “Dreams,” he mutters.   
  
“Yeah,” Shiro admits, wincing. “I’m sorry if that happens. You can tell me about them after, if you want. Even if they’re not mine.” There’s a high chance they still will be, but if he’s learned anything from this mess, it’s that Ryou’s got his own collection of horrifying memories buried below the surface. But Ryou wouldn’t have had any of those if not for Shiro, technically. If they’re causing his clone problems, he’s willing to listen.   
  
“The worst is almost over, though,” Shiro adds. “Just a few more days. Everyone is really looking forward to seeing you healthier. They’re all wishing you a speedy recovery.”   
  
Ryou frowns. “Who?”  
  
“Our friends,” Shiro clarifies, without going into names that he won’t remember yet. “You’ll get to see them soon. Something to look forward to, right?”  
  
“Right,” Ryou parrots quietly. Shiro suspects he’s imitating again, following Shiro’s lead when he doesn’t know how to react himself. He doesn’t call his clone on it. It will be fixed soon.   
  
Coran signals that he’s ready to seal the pod, and just as he had last time, Shiro pats Ryou’s arm once before withdrawing his hand from the depression. “Ready to go. See you in a week, Ryou. You’ll feel a lot better when you wake up.”  
  
“Mm,” Ryou murmurs drowsily. The pod is already beginning to take effect, and soon his clone drifts under once more, and his eyes slide closed. The pod seals and re-docks under Coran’s careful supervision, and once again, Ryou is silent and asleep.   
  
Silent and asleep, but no longer frozen in time.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think almost every one of you is convinced I have something evil up my sleeve because there's _still two whole chapters left._
> 
> Let's see if you're right, shall we?

The spicolian movement goes by almost unbearably slowly. Everyone is waiting for the time that Ryou will actually be released from the pod, this time for good, and Shiro catches more than one team member visiting him during their free hours. If ever any proof was needed that Ryou had become a valued member of the team, that was it. Shiro’s happy to see it.  
  
Shiro visits constantly, too. Coran’s shown him how to monitor Ryou’s healing activity even without the Alteans present, and Shiro checks it several times a day. There’s slow progress, but it’s there—the bruises Ryou’s skin developed so easily are fading, and there’s a lot of healing activity in his head and eyes, or in his skeletal structure and joints.   
  
There’s brain activity too, sometimes. Ryou dreams, just like Shiro did in the pods. Sometimes it’s quiet, and only the occasional facial twitch indicates what Ryou is seeing or feeling. Other times it’s worse, and his face twists into an expression of pain or stress that he can’t escape, not in the pod. Shiro wishes he could do something to help then—hell, he’d take the dreams himself. At least out here, he can wake up. But all he can do is watch, until the pained expression smoothes back into the laxness of sleep once more.   
  
But at last, after far too many quintents of waiting and watching, the day comes when Ryou will step free from the pods once more.   
  
This time, Shiro lets everyone be there—provided they agree to be calmer and quieter, and are ready to head out the door if it’s clear it’s becoming too overwhelming for Ryou. Shiro’s honestly not sure what kind of a state Ryou will be in, when the pod releases him, but after everything he’s been through the last thing he needs is stress.   
  
They agree, fortunately, and everyone gathers in excited anticipation as Coran lowers the pod into a horizontal position. Healed or not, they’d learned from Shiro that the pods won’t regrow muscle mass, and Ryou is still skin and bone—he won’t be able to support himself once he wakes.   
  
The pod hisses open, and once again Shiro waits beside it. The others are far back enough to give Ryou a little space at first, although Lance is shifting from foot to foot in anticipation, and Keith’s fingers are digging so hard into his crossed arms he’s leaving marks in his jacket. Everyone is excited, but everyone is anxious too. After all this, if something were to go wrong…  
  
 _Nothing is going to go wrong,_ Shiro promises himself.   
  
He watches as Ryou’s eyes flutter open slowly. They blink away sleep blearily, and glance around, struggling to focus on something. For a moment, Shiro is worried his vision is still compromised—but then Ryou’s eyes fall on Shiro, and light up in recognition.  
  
“You’re here,” Ryou says. His voice is still soft, but this time it’s the hoarseness of lack of use, and not the gasping quiet that comes from struggling for enough breath to speak.   
  
“I did promise,” Shiro says. “Twice.”  
  
“You did, didn’t you,” Ryou says, musing over the answer thoughtfully. The fact that he remembers immediately lifts a weight off Shiro’s shoulders that he hadn’t even realized was there.  
  
“How do you feel?” Shiro asks. He leans forward to help Ryou sit up, sliding a hand behind his clone’s back for support.   
  
Ryou hisses almost immediately. “That’s _cold,”_ he says, trying to pull away from Shiro’s hand—the Galra one around his shoulders—with a wince.   
  
“Sorry,” Shiro says, a little sheepishly, as he swaps arms. Ryou breathes a sigh of relief. Shiro does inwardly, too, when he realizes the touch of his prosthetic hadn’t caused painful bruises all around Ryou’s shoulders just from the contact itself. “But really—how do you feel?”  
  
Ryou considers as Shiro supports him. He struggles to help lever himself up, but even healed he’s still weak as a newborn kitten, and barely has any strength in him. Shiro can feel his muscles trembling with exertion just from the attempt, and he knows from his own recent experience with muscle atrophy that Ryou probably still feels miserable. And as expected, after a moment Ryou admits, “I have felt better,” in a tired voice.   
  
“But not as bad as before?” Shiro asks, cautiously.  
  
“I don’t think so,” Ryou says slowly. “It’s…kind of a blur…”  
  
“That’s fine,” Shiro says. “No need to push it. As long as you feel okay now. Here—let’s get you out of the pod.”  
  
Ryou has certainly recovered more than a little, because in addition to having more of his wits about him, he also has more of his—or maybe it’s Shiro’s—pride. He seems faintly embarrassed at needing to be lifted free, or at the fact that he can’t manage to walk under his own power. But he doesn’t protest, either, which is probably a mark of just how badly he wants to get out of that pod.  
  
Not surprising, really. He’s probably had enough of the pods to last him another lifetime.   
  
Although Shiro’s perfectly aware there’s no shame in Ryou needing help, he also ends it as soon as possible for his clone’s sake. He deposits Ryou in a large, overstuffed chair Coran had dug out of one of the more luxurious royal quarters for just this purpose. After Ryou’s discomfort with the table last time, they’d opted for something a little more comfortable, once he was capable of staying upright and maintaining awareness. The thick padding is enough to support Ryou, even lacking strength as he is. It’s also comfortably soft, and when Shiro tosses a blanket over him after, comfortably warm.  
  
“Thanks,” Ryou says, with a sigh of relief, as he settles into the blanket a little.  
  
The rest of the crew inches forward now that Ryou is settled in, hopeful and eager. Shiro leans on the side of the chair-back, just in case he’s needed, and nods to the others. “Everyone’s been waiting for you to get out of the pod. They’ve all been worried.”  
  
His breath catches in his throat as Ryou’s eyes light on the rest of the crew, flicking over the Alteans and then to the paladins, and finally resting on Matt, before sweeping back across. He stares at the mice on Allura’s shoulders with a puzzled frown, and Shiro feels the first pangs of dread.  
  
“You…Ryou, do you need any introductions?” he asks cautiously. Testing. “I forget who you’ve met.”  
  
Ryou is silent for a long moment, staring at the crew. Everyone is frozen, struggling to maintain their eager smiles, but Shiro can see the first flickers of worry in their eyes. His own heart sinks the longer the silence lasts. Does he still not remember them? It _was_ a possibility, however minor. Slav had predicted at least a fifteen percent chance that some memories or functions might have been permanently lost due to the damage to Ryou’s brain caused by his failsafe genetics, but _what_ was lost could be anyone’s guess. It could be little, insignificant things…or it could be memories of the crew.   
  
“Ryou?” Shiro presses, after at least twenty full ticks of silence.  
  
Ryou shakes his head, as if stirring from a daze. “Sorry,” he apologizes. For a moment, Shiro is scared it’s the same apology he always gave when he _knew_ he was supposed to remember someone, but didn’t, and his jaw clenches in helpless frustration. But then Ryou continues, “I can’t for the life of me remember the mice’s names. Sorry guys, they’re just…all so _similar.”_   
  
It’s only a lot of experience and practice that keeps Shiro’s jaw from dropping. Lance bursts into laughter, and Matt claps a hand over his mouth and nose to hide a snort. The mice chatter indignantly on Allura’s shoulders.  
  
“Be polite!” Allura scolds them gently. “He has been ill. And your names _are_ very similar.”  
  
Shiro offers the mice a sheepish smile. “That’s actually not his fault. I could never keep them straight either.” It wasn’t as though he interacted with the mice often, after all.  
  
Ryou seems a little relieved at that. The mice, on the other hand, look deeply offended, and chatter sullenly to themselves on Allura’s shoulders.  
  
“But you like…know the rest of us, right?” Hunk asks, completely dropping all semblance of tact.  
  
Ryou smiles weakly, but looks each person in the eyes as he recites their names. “Coran, Allura, Pidge, Lance, Hunk, Keith, Matt. Did I miss anyone?”  
  
“All the right names and all the right faces,” Pidge says, with an edge of relief that she does her best to hide. Lance pats her on the back reassuringly, and that seems to cheer her a little. It had disturbed Pidge quite a bit, towards the end, to be constantly mistaken for Matt. She’d put up with it because it was what Ryou had needed, but Shiro can tell she’s glad to have her own name again.  
  
“It’s good to have you back,” Keith says quietly.   
  
Shiro raises an eyebrow at that—and catches the test in the words, too. Ryou does as well, because he blinks once, and his lips twitch into the ghost of a smirk. “It’s good to be back.”  
  
That seems to be more reassuring to Keith than his own name—probably because Ryou had still sort of known Keith’s name, to a degree—but memory speaks louder still. Keith actually grins a little at the response, and finally uncrosses his arms, taking a step forward.  
  
It’s like it’s a signal to the group, and nearly as one they surge forward to greet their lost team mate who has finally, _finally,_ been rescued. It’s almost like a strange case of deja vu, watching the team gather around Ryou to envelope him in a group hug. Shiro quietly takes a step back to give them their moment. He watches as Lance and Pidge burrow close. As Hunk wraps Ryou, Lance and half the chair in an enormous hug. As Matt does the same on the other side with an arm looped around Pidge. As Keith and Allura each put a hand on his shoulders.   
  
Ryou seems momentarily stunned at the warm reception. He glances up in surprise, first meeting Coran’s eyes—the old Altean smiles warmly—and then Shiro’s. Shiro grins back at him knowingly, and nods in the direction of the huddled mess of paladins. _They were worried for you_ , Shiro’s unspoken words say.   
  
Ryou’s surprise melts into a smile—tired, weak, and relieved, but genuine. He detangles from his blanket weakly, but enough to free his remaining arm, and curl his left hand into the hem of Pidge’s shirt in an attempt to reciprocate. His eyes slide closed, and for the first time since he got out of the pod—for the first time since before that—Ryou actually looks warm.  
  
Shiro lets the hug go on for a while, smiling as he watches. Lance is rambling something at a million miles an hour as he welcomes Ryou back, Matt is telling some stupid joke that Pidge is groaning at, and Hunk is laughing. Even Keith and Allura, though more reserved, seem to be enjoying the moment. Ryou is nearly buried, but Shiro can see him laughing weakly, burrowed into the warmth of acceptance and friendship and drinking it in like a man dying of thirst.   
  
He’d needed this. He’d deserved this. All the struggles to bring him to this moment had been worth it.   
  
But at last, Shiro catches the weariness and strain in Ryou’s posture and in his expression, and steps forward to gently break up the party. “Alright, let’s let him breathe,” he admonishes gently, prying Hunk off of the others. “He just got out of a cryo-pod. Let’s not break him right away, okay?”  
  
“There’s worse ways to go,” Ryou says weakly, as the others grudgingly back off. There’s strain in his voice from pushing a little too hard, too fast, but even so there’s a slight grin at his lips. “I would know…”  
  
The others look vaguely alarmed at the blunt reference to his own near death, but Shiro just shakes his head in exasperation. “‘Alive’ is still preferable to ‘crushed to death by friendship,’” Shiro says wryly. “Let’s try to keep it that way.”  
  
“Well,” Ryou says, “If you insist.” He leans back wearily against the chair back, tipping his head back to rest it on the thick padding and closing his eyes. All joking aside, he’s fading pretty quickly; Shiro doesn’t think he’ll be able to stay awake too much longer.  
  
“I do,” Shiro says, playing along for now. The others have picked up on Ryou’s fatigue, and Keith and Matt are less than subtly herding the rest towards the doors.  
  
“Got a lot of catching up to do, Ryou!” Lance calls from the doorway, as Pidge unceremoniously assists her brother in shoving him out of the room. “I got to level thirty-eight in _Journey to the Depths of the Demonsphere_ but I paused. Need your tactical assistance as second player.”  
  
“Mmm,” Ryou acknowledges tiredly. “You got it…”   
  
“I’ve got a new recipe for you too,” Hunk promises cheerfully, as Matt finally shoos Lance out the door. “Should be easy for your stomach to handle, but it’ll taste good. I’ll make it tonight for dinner.”  
  
“Sounds great,” Ryou agrees neutrally.   
  
“Take care of yourself, Ryou,” Allura, the last to finally leave, orders. “The rest of us will assist in your recovery any way we can.”  
  
Ryou smiles weakly. “Thank you, princess. I appreciate it.”  
  
“Think nothing of it. You are, after all, a part of our family.” The mice chatter in agitation on her shoulders, and she shakes her head in exasperation. “Even if, Plachu would like to remind you, you haven’t learned everyone’s names yet.”  
  
“I’ll work on that,” Ryou promises. The mice seem mollified, and Allura smiles as she sweeps out the door, leaving only Ryou, Shiro, and Coran behind.   
  
Coran smiles. “It’s a pleasure to have you back, Ryou,” he says fondly.  
  
“Thanks.” Ryou cracks an eye open for a moment, weary. “And, uh…thanks for helping. With all of this. It’s kind of blurry, but…I’m sorry.”  
  
“Oh, there’s nothing to apologize for,” Coran says, waving it aside indifferently, before stroking his mustache. “What _is_ important for you to worry about is your health. So let’s start by taking care of your daily treatment, and then you can rest for the day. I think you’ve done enough as it is.”   
  
“I woke up,” Ryou says, cracking the other eye open. “That’s ‘enough?’ ”  
  
“Better than some alternatives,” Shiro says quietly.   
  
There’s no humor in his tone, this time. For all their dark attempts to lighten the mood, they’d been far too close to losing Ryou. Any alternative is better than that one. And although Ryou seems hazy on the details, he seems to know just enough to know how close he came, too.   
  
“You’re right,” he agrees after a moment, sliding his eyes closed again tiredly. “Thank you.”   
  
Shiro smiles. “What are mostly-identical genetic predecessors for?”  
  
“Listen to the princess, Shiro. Think the term you’re looking for is ‘family,’” Ryou mutters sleepily, as Coran starts preparing his treatments.  
  
Shiro doesn’t think there’s an actual word for whatever it is the two of them are, but upon reflection, Ryou’s term seems to fit close enough. 

* * *

  
  
Ryou’s recovery after that is long and hard fought, but ultimately a successful uphill battle.  
  
The cryo-pods fixed a great deal of the damage caused by Ryou’s artificially-induced illness—the blindness, the weakness in his joints and skeletal structure, the bruises he gained at the lightest touch, the damage to parts of his brain. It helps to ease some of his muscle pain and soreness, especially in his hips and shoulders, which had bothered him so much.   
  
But cryo-pods aren’t miracle machines, and they aren’t capable of fixing everything. They promote healing in injured tissues, sew up gashes, and stop up nasty bleeds, but they have limits. They can’t replace memories and brain functions irreversibly damaged, and they can’t fix weight loss, or muscle atrophy, or dietary issues.   
  
It means that even though Altean medicine gives Ryou a head start on recovery, he’s still got a long road ahead of him—and Shiro knows at least part of it from personal experience. His own recovery from severe muscle atrophy due to being in an induced coma had taken months to come back from, and he had been otherwise perfectly healthy at the time. It had still been faster than it would have taken on Earth, but had been slower than he’d cared for in the middle of an inter-galactic war zone. Ryou doesn’t even have the advantage of being perfectly healthy. It will be many, many months before he’ll be fighting fit again, and he’ll have to fight tooth and nail for every scrap of progress.  
  
Starting with relearning certain basics. Slav’s prediction hadn’t been entirely wrong (a fact that Slav has no problem rubbing in Shiro’s face, when he shows up grudgingly for his promised ‘robot arm observation day’ in payment for Slav’s efforts). Although the cryo-pods had fixed a great deal of the damage in Ryou’s head, he had lost _some_ things, some more prominent than others.   
  
To his immense frustration, he’ll be forced to re-learn how to walk and write from the beginning, and practice much of his hand-eye coordination again; his illness had done a terrible number on many of his motor functions. When he’s stronger, Shiro suspects he’ll have to re-learn how to fight, too. Ryou has drifting bits and pieces of muscle memory that will certainly supplement his active movement and combat skills, but not to the same extent that he did.  
  
It means he’s stuck relying on the team for a while to move around, until he’s strong enough to begin physical therapy—a strong blow to his pride, Shiro can tell. The others do what they can to reassure him, even as they use it to convince him into following instructions so that he can get better. Enforcing proper bedrest and coaxing Hunk’s re-visited weight and muscle-building meals into him is easier when Ryou legitimately wants to get better, so he can stop having to lean on them constantly. Shiro doesn’t even know how many protein drinks he manages to talk Ryou into taking, even when he’s not feeling particularly hungry because of his still-weak stomach, entirely based on that single argument. Ryou is even kind enough not to call him on his own hypocrisy.   
  
Hunk’s liquid lunches (as Lance calls them) are packed full of the nutrients Ryou’s starved body desperately needs to grow healthier, while not being too taxing on his stomach, and they work miracles in their own right. Soon Ryou starts being able to handle bigger portions without feeling sick, and gradually his appetite returns in more force. Hunk gradually works him up to larger portions, and then moves to unoffensive, semi-solid meals—space varieties of oatmeal, applesauce, yogurt, and even food goo. Ryou shifts to those cautiously, but his stomach is getting stronger, and he manages to keep those down consistently without throwing up. Then, very carefully, to bland solid foods—toast, crackers, rice—and then finally, when Ryou is feeling more adventurous, into more flavorful things with larger portions.

And eventually, Ryou does start to gain a little weight, thanks to Hunk’s dedicated efforts and the rest of the team’s encouragement. He’s still very thin, but he stops looking skeletal, and his clothing doesn’t hang on him as much as it did. His face starts to fill out a little more, and his cheekbones—and the scar across his nose—are no longer so sharply prominent.   
  
It’s a work in progress, but Shiro will give Hunk credit where it’s due: their yellow paladin does an incredible job of helping Ryou get stronger through food alone. Shiro can’t even begin to imagine the level of research and care it must have taken, but he does a fantastic job.  
  
When he can handle solid foods again it means—to Ryou’s intense relief—that his treatments can change, too. Until then, every day he’s been forced to take one regular injection, like clockwork. He understands the need, but it’s hard to be anything close to enthusiastic about being shot through with chemicals every day for the rest of his life.  
  
“I’m sorry it has to be like this,” Shiro says, as Coran administers the daily failsafe treatment.  
  
“It is what it is,” Ryou says tiredly. A slight twitch of his fingers is the only reaction he has to Coran pricking him with a needle—he’s at least gotten used to Coran’s daily treatments by now to not be nervous, although he still doesn’t like it at all. He stares at his open palm. “I just wish I hadn’t been made to fail this way.”  
  
Shiro scowls. “It’s not _your_ fault,” he reminds, sharply. It’s a conversation they’ve gone back and forth on a lot. “You didn’t ask for this. You weren’t even born yet. This is all _her.”_ He breathes once, forces himself to calm. “But we can keep searching for a better solution. There’s no law saying this is the only one, just the only one we could come up with in a pinch.”  
  
“Maybe one day,” Ryou agrees. “Maybe I can make that a goal.”   
  
The injections aren’t pleasant, but they become unnecessary other than in an emergency once Ryou can actually eat food again. It means he can also ingest pills again, which means he can switch to taking daily medication from a bottle rather than a needle. Shiro and Coran still monitor his actual usage every day—and will continue to, until Ryou’s strong enough again in mind and body both to handle those responsibilities—but at least he doesn’t have to be pricked by needles on a regular basis.   
  
The change, and the weight he manages to put on after a feeb and a half of careful nutritional monitoring, means he’s able to start tackling the real challenge: walking.   
  
It’s a challenge that the entire team is well prepared for—they’d already had practice with Shiro’s months of recovery after the dream-cage. All of them are encouraging, and all of them know the exercises well enough to help guide Ryou through them. All of them are willing to help out during off hours, both to cheer him on and to keep him from pushing himself too hard.   
  
But Shiro probably helps the most. In part, it’s because he’s so intimately familiar with this stage of recovery from Ryou’s side. But also, if he’s honest with himself, he’s become quite protective of his clone in the months since this whole debacle started. It had started with just a need to ensure his clone got his second chance. But seeing him so vulnerable and struggling so hard to find his cure had instilled a stronger need to protect not just Ryou’s chance to start over, but Ryou himself.   
  
It means he knows exactly what Ryou’s capable of, and pushes him to his limits without pushing him over. It also means he gets the most of Ryou’s whining, when his clone is not happy about Shiro’s taskmaster behavior, or his own slow progress.  
  
“Can’t you just…put it all back in my head again?” Ryou half gasps, half whines, after another attempt at the parallel bars Pidge and Hunk had built for Shiro and pulled back out for Ryou. Shiro had more than half supported him through the exercise, especially since his clone only has one arm to work with and subsequently less to balance on—and even so Ryou is practically shaking from the exertion as Shiro guides him to a nearby chair.  
  
“Excuse me?” Shiro asks, incredulous, as he settles Ryou into the chair.   
  
“Walking,” Ryou clarifies. “I didn’t…this was easy last time. I just knew. Like I’d been doing it for years. Because _you’d_ been doing it for years. Even if I’d never done it before.”   
  
Shiro raises an eyebrow at him. “You’re seriously telling me you never struggled with taking a step for a second? You were just…automatically conditioned to know how to move? Your muscles and coordination already knew how?” Pidge had more or less said it, back when they were analyzing Ryou’s illness, but it’s strange to hear direct from the source.  
  
“Well. I fell over, once,” Ryou admits. “The first step. More weight than anticipated. But I was fine after that. Tired, but I could still _do_ it.” He glares at the parallel bars with a mix of disgust and dread. “This is different. This is so _hard._ It’s like my body doesn’t even listen to me anymore. It’s stupid. I feel _stupid._ I can’t even…I’m supposed to be able to _walk_. That’s basic. Even toddlers manage.”  
  
“They learned,” Shiro says. “Like I did. Like you are now. It’s not stupid.”   
  
Ryou doesn’t look like he’s buying it, so Shiro changes tactics. “Think of it this way: every step you master on your own is slapping _her_ in the face. You’re doing it the right way, and it’s all _you_ , not this…made to order, messing with your brain garbage. That’s a victory you can own, once you get there.”   
  
Ryou seems to consider that one thoughtfully before he slowly nods. “That’s…that’s a better way to look at it.”  
  
“Great.” Shiro points back at the bars. “Take a breather, and then we’ll do one more round.”  
  
Ryou groans. “What did I do to deserve this torment?”  
  
“Hey, you can do one more. I know you can. I have the exact same body. I know your limits.”  
  
 _“Mostly_ the same body,” Ryou corrects—a little grumpily, Shiro notes with amusement. “And aren’t you the one always insisting we’re _not_ the same? Maybe my limits aren’t yours anymore.”  
  
“It’s funny how you only bring that up when you’re being cranky or avoiding the subject,” Shiro observes mildly. He’s not sure yet if it’s a commentary on his own personality, or Ryou’s slowly re-budding individuality—but Shiro’s pretty sure _he_ never complained this much during his recovery.   
  
Ryou only grumbles in response. But he does, in true Shirogane fashion, finish the final round with Shiro’s help, jaw set with grim determination the entire way through.  
  
So that’s something they’ll always have in common, then.  
  
Ryou improves with time, practice, and a lot more short-term visits to the cryo-pods to help with keeping his muscles from growing too sore or preventing joint problems. After a while, he can manage at least short bursts of movement on his own. He doesn’t constantly need someone nearby to help with things like getting to the bathroom or getting out of bed.   
  
He starts escaping his room more often, spending the time in more public places like the lounge and the dining hall. He’ll sit in the kitchen sometimes and watch Hunk cook, and practice fine motor skills by helping as much as he can with one arm for sorting, measuring and mixing. Keith procures some tiny one- and two-pound weights from somewhere and, with Coran’s permission, gives them to Ryou to start practicing falling into a basic training regimen. He certainly seems to appreciate having more of a schedule and something to work on.  
  
And once he’s more ambulatory, he starts getting a little more concerned with his appearance. It’s not vanity so much as presentation, which Shiro gets, completely. It’s hard to portray yourself as feeling stronger when you look like a wreck, especially to yourself.   
  
So he’s not surprised when Ryou asks him for help cutting his hair. Several months of being ill, and then recovering, have left him a little scruffier than usual. It’s not nearly as long as it apparently had been the first time the team had found Ryou, at least. But Pidge says Ryou is starting to resemble an alternate reality Shiro they’d met with how shaggy his hair’s getting, and Ryou had apparently decided enough was enough.   
  
Shiro’s willing enough to help, although it’s a little weird managing the cut on someone else when he’s so used to doing it on himself. “What do you want?” he asks, as he gets Ryou set up in the bathroom and retrieves his own clippers.   
  
It’s a not-so-subtle test of choice, really. Shiro had gone back to his undercut style as soon as he’d been able to; he’d just liked the way it looked and felt, and it was practical in the field. Ryou’s been imitating him for so long out of sheer force of habit, Shiro half expects him to pick the same thing.  
  
But Ryou just shrugs, and says, “Just a crew for now. Not messy. Easy to take care of.”   
  
“Sure,” Shiro says lightly. He doesn’t make a point of Ryou’s different choice, subtle though it might be. Ryou might panic if he draws attention to it. He’d been so hyper-focused on needing to imitate Shiro when he’d been ill. Better to let him choose at his own pace.   
  
The cut itself is easy. But when Shiro trims away the longer hair neatly, he’s a little puzzled with the results. “Huh,” he murmurs thoughtfully.  
  
“What?” Ryou asks, shifting a little self-consciously. “Something wrong?”  
  
“Not wrong, exactly,” Shiro says. He tilts Ryou’s head gently to try and get a better angle in the light, but it only confirms his suspicions. “It’s just…you’re, uh, going a little gray.”  
  
 _“What?”_ Ryou turns his head to try and get a better look at himself in the bathroom mirror, but he can’t quite get the right angle to see it properly. _“How?”_  
  
“I’m not sure,” Shiro admits honestly. It could be a result of the medication they’re using to save his life. Or it could be the results of his illness—it wouldn’t be the first symptom Ryou had displayed while sick that had something in common with aging. Either way, the pods don’t exactly cure hair color changes, as Shiro is all too aware. Whatever caused the change, it’s here to stay.  
  
Ryou groans. “It’s not enough that I have to re-learn the basics like a toddler. Now I’m going to look like _older_ you? Only in _this_ reality am I unlucky enough to be simultaneously too young and too old.”  
  
“Now you just sound like Slav,” Shiro says mildly. Ryou gives him a reproachful look, and Shiro waves his hand reassuringly. “I’m kidding. Look, it’s really not that bad.” And he’s not just trying to make Ryou feel better. There’s little flecks of silver only just starting to grow in, barely enough to be noticeable, and it doesn’t look terrible. Even when it does become more prominent, Shiro figures it’ll make him look more distinguished than anything else.  
  
Ryou does not seem reassured by the answer. “Your hair isn’t going on _three_ colors,” he mutters unhappily.   
  
“You can always dye it, if it really bothers you that much,” Shiro says. “In thousands of planets, I’m pretty sure at least one of them besides Earth has figured out how to color hair.” Not that Shiro’s ever considered it himself. His own stark white bangs are admittedly a little weird, but he can’t remember how he got them, and frankly he has bigger concerns on his mind.   
  
_But Ryou is not me,_ he reminds himself sharply. _If he wants to do something about it, or if it bothers him, that’s his right and his own business._   
  
Ryou stares at his own reflection for a moment more, but then sighs and shakes his head. “Something I can think about later,” he says finally. “But if I get any old man jokes, I’ll…” He considers, stares at the empty space where his right arm should be and isn’t, and then at his functioning but still too weak legs, before he mutters to himself again. “…glare at them sternly, I guess.”   
  
“As long as you don’t yell at them to get off your lawn,” Shiro says, with a small smile. Ryou shoots him a betrayed look in the mirror, and Shiro laughs. “I’m sorry! That was mean. Seriously, if they give you any trouble I’ll run them down for you, if you need it.”  
  
There are no old man jokes. If anyone notices the change in coloration—and they have to notice eventually, once Ryou’s hair starts growing out again—they’re smart enough not to comment around him. Ryou seems content with that, at least for the moment.   
  
He hangs out with the team more often, now that he’s more mobile, feels presentable, and _can_ socialize with them without stressing because he can’t put names to their faces. Lance is particularly willing to hang out with him for hours in the lounge, watching movies and playing games, exercising Ryou’s dexterity and focus more subtly than anyone might have expected of Lance. But all of them are more than happy to spend a morning or afternoon keeping him company while he rests in between physical therapy days.   
  
Of course, it’s around that time that they catch some of the _other_ things Ryou’s illness had caused. The motor functions Ryou has to re-learn are more obvious. But it turns out that there are other memories and other bits of knowledge he’d _had_ , but lost to the failsafe damage. Those are more subtle and difficult to find, until it comes up unexpectedly…and often in the spottiest, most unpredictable ways.   
  
He has to be re-taught all the rules to poker and uno—but still remembers every person’s tells for the games, enough to base entire strategies with razor-sharp wit around games he’s only just learned. He forgets the overall arcs and characters to some of Shiro’s favorite movies, but can still quote word-for-word some of the best (or most obscure) lines in them. When Shiro tests cautiously, it seems that most of Ryou’s memories from Earth are still fully intact, but some more recent missions as a paladin—either as himself, or as Shiro—are foggy at best, or gone completely. And he never does quite recover a perfect understanding of anything that happened during his illness—he claims it’s still a blur, for the most part, or he incorrectly remembers the events based on his own confusion.  
  
In the grand scheme of things, while it’s unfortunate that he’d lost anything at all, it’s still better than they could have hoped for. He still remembers the team, the notable coalition members, and major details. He sometimes expresses embarrassment or frustration when he can’t remember the name of the favored book Matt asks about, or has to re-learn the controls on the _Mercury Gameflux II_ to help Lance or Pidge, and Shiro can hardly blame him for that. He knows from personal experience how deeply frustrating and downright scary it can be to have a hole in your head where you know something used to be.   
  
But there’s a lot more they could have lost than the rules to a card game or the name of a once-favored film. Shiro had watched those things slip away from Ryou every day, and it had been heartbreaking. He never wants to see that happen again, not if he can do anything to stop it.  
  
So Shiro doesn’t push too hard for Ryou to remember things if he just can’t, and the team is usually willing to re-teach him little things, or remind him of events or titles. But he does revisit one event—just one—in Ryou’s hazy understanding of his own illness directly, because it’s too important a memory for Ryou to lose.   
  
“Do you remember the promise I made, the day we put you in the sleep chamber?” Shiro asks, in the middle of marathoning a heroic action-adventure series Lance swears by. They’re alone in the lounge, and Shiro is keeping a passive eye out to make sure Ryou is resting on his day off from therapy, not unlike his clone did for him when _he’d_ been recovering. Ryou is tired and sore, but in a fairly good mood and comfortable on the couch, which is why Shiro had chosen now for the discussion.  
  
Ryou frowns at that, and stops staring at the holoscreen to look at Shiro instead. “What?”  
  
“The promise I made,” Shiro repeats, patiently. “Do you remember it clearly?”  
  
Ryou’s frown deepens as he struggles to find the answer in his hazy memories. He has difficulty placing context to most of his memories when ill, but Shiro can still see the moment he remembers at least a little, because there’s a sudden flash of fear in his eyes. “Oh,” he says slowly. “I was…I thought…my approval was revoked? That I was—“  
  
“Easy,” Shiro stops him. “You were scared of that, yes, but it wasn’t your fault. I apologized then, but now that you’re feeling better, I wanted to be sure you understood _now_ that I’m sorry for frightening you. We never meant for that to happen. It was stupid of me not to consider it. And nothing like that will ever happen to you, ever. I don’t care how sick you are, and I don’t care if you can never fight again. I don’t care if you don’t act exactly like me, either. No storage, no study. We don’t kill people for existing. Okay?”  
  
Ryou stares at him for a long moment. They’ve practically shared a brain, but it’s like Ryou is seeing him for the first time, even so. But eventually Ryou says, “Okay.” And after another moment of expectant waiting, softer still, “You’re not going to ask…?”  
  
Shiro shakes his head. He’s certainly curious, in a ‘horrified fascination’ sort of way, but he also knows better. “If you _want_ to tell me, that’s up to you,” Shiro says. “I’ll listen. And I probably have a better chance of understanding it than the rest. But you don’t have to either, not if you’re not comfortable with it.” God knows he knows what that’s like. Ryou’s got a new brand of horror in his head Shiro can’t share, but it’s not his place to tell his clone how to deal with it…just to be there if he decides dealing means asking for someone to listen.   
  
Ryou studies him for another long moment. “Why are you doing all of this?”  
  
Shiro raises an eyebrow. “Huh?”  
  
“I’ve been in your head,” Ryou says. “It’s mine too. You wouldn’t have left me to die, that’s not in your nature. But this is…a lot more than I would have bet on. For Keith, maybe, or Matt. The paladins. They’re connected to you by now.”  
  
“And you’re not?” Shiro asks. “You literally just said we share a mind. You’re more connected than anyone else to me.”   
  
“As an imposter,” Ryou says. “I’ve learned to be a part of the team and to be productive. I’ve found ways to help. I’ve been earning my place through merit, I won’t deny that, but…I mean, I stole your _life._ I forced myself into your whole dynamic and didn’t give you much of a chance to say no. There should be resentment. Or at least neutrality. Not…not giving up lead to spend weeks babysitting your falling-apart dependent clone that you never asked for.”   
  
Shiro thinks, for just a moment, of the darker thoughts he’d had during the worst of Ryou’s illness. When he’d asked himself those same questions, and wondered what the point of it all had been. He’d never let himself voice those thoughts, and if Ryou has any idea he’s echoing something that's run parallel in Shiro’s own mind, he doesn’t show it. So Shiro doesn’t either.  
  
Besides, he’s had a long time to think about those thoughts, and he’s found better answers to those questions.  
  
“You also saved my life,” Shiro points out, “And I’d still be a captive if you hadn’t led them to me. But this isn’t about owing anyone. I helped you because you needed it.”   
  
“That doesn’t mean going as far as you did. You could have helped without being involved directly at all.”  
  
“Wrong,” Shiro counters. “I helped you because you needed _my_ help. In the same way nobody else but you could get me out of that dream-cage. The others did what they could, but that wasn’t always what you needed. I helped you because I’ve seen inside _your_ head too, in the cage, and I know that you deserved it. I helped you because you’re on _my_ team, however you got there, and I protect my team at all costs. And I helped you because, _wherever_ you came from, you’re a part of this family now, and you know damn well how I feel about that.”  
  
Ryou snorts. “I do.” He eyes Shiro suspiciously. “You really never resented me?”  
  
Shiro shrugs. “I won’t lie that it’s weird,” he admits. “You came out of nowhere. Yeah, it takes some getting used to. Doesn’t mean I’d let you suffer like that out of spite when I have the ability to stop that. I don’t care where you came from, nobody deserves that.” He smiles a little. “Besides, first time I met you, you were in the middle of saving my life. That earned you some major brownie points from the start.”   
  
Ryou snorts. “If I recall correctly, the first time I met you, I scared the hell out of you in a bathroom mirror.”   
  
“It made more sense in context,” Shiro says, waving it aside. “I’m willing to forgive that, considering the nature of the brain-eating nightmare cage.” He eyes Ryou. “Seriously. It’s weird, I agree. It probably won’t ever stop being weird. There isn’t even really a word for whatever the hell we are; ‘twin’ doesn’t even really encompass it. But you’re some kind of family to me, and that means you’re worth helping.”   
  
The moment he says it, Shiro realizes it’s true. He hadn’t been able to properly verbalize it, even to himself, but it’s true.  
  
Ryou stares at his knees for a long time, ignoring the holoscreen and the characters dancing through a complex fight sequence. Shiro gives him time to process. But finally, his clone says, “Thanks.”  
  
“If you really want to thank me, go back a scene,” Shiro says, nodding to the screens. “Lance is going to grill us on this afterwards and I have no idea what’s been going on.”  
  
Ryou smirks. “Hopefully between the two of us we can figure it out enough to pass,” he says, flicking the controls up on a new holoscreen with his only hand to roll the episode back.  
  
Maybe Shiro’s just imagining things, but after that Ryou seems a little…lighter, maybe. Less like he’s carrying a burden. Shiro wonders how long his clone had been carrying those uncertainties before this illness had happened, and curses himself for being an idiot about it, but what’s done is done. Ryou knows, now, and he seems more comfortable for it. That’s all that matters.   
  
And truth be told, Shiro understands a little better himself, too, when Ryou challenges him on it. He’d felt protective of his clone after seeing him so vulnerable; he’d wanted to help badly when Ryou had suffered; and even if it had hurt him to watch it, he’d still been willing to keep Ryou company and keep his mind afloat one more day. But he’d never really understood why it was important until the moment he’s forced to explain himself.   
  
He’d done it because Ryou was family—in some weird, bizarre way that doesn’t exist in any human tongue, in a way impossible on Earth, in a way he’d never in a million years expected or asked for. But he was. And that was enough.


	7. Chapter 7

Ryou gets stronger after that, both in body and mind. He builds up enough weight again that he actually looks like a human being once more, although a skinny one. It’s only Shiro’s muscle tone that sets them apart in size, then. He can move around more often for longer periods on his own, although Shiro is surprised to find that Ryou’s gait actually differs from his own, now. Before, Ryou moved identically to him—same paces, same weight shift, the same walk, the same run. Learning to move again on his own, without Shiro’s physical ability coded into his brain and body, really made it _his own._   
  
He starts learning more delicate hand-eye coordination again. He only has his left hand, but he starts learning to write and type with it again, and his attempts with a fork, knife or spoon become more refined with practice. Hunk starts letting him help out in the kitchen with more difficult tasks again, as much as he’s able with just one hand. It flexes his fingers and gets him used to using them in other ways, and that’s never a bad thing.   
  
Shiro can’t help but marvel at the eventual difference between himself and Ryou then, too. Shiro’s learned to do a lot of things with his left hand—a metal arm can only do so much delicate work—but his writing and typing are a little clumsier when he’s predominantly right handed. Ryou doesn’t have a choice in the matter, and ends up as a leftie out of necessity. But his handwriting is much smoother and noticeably different than Shiro’s, and he handles certain things with much more grace than Shiro can.   
  
It’s fascinating, really, just to see how Ryou grows on his own, when he isn’t immediately locked into using everything that Shiro developed first.  
  
It’s around that time, when Ryou starts becoming more fully independent again, that another issue comes up. Specifically, when Shiro catches Ryou almost longingly watching the others during sparring practice in the training deck. Ryou’s been a more frequent visitor now as he starts working on slowly building up muscle mass with careful strength exercises, but he can’t participate in the training exercises with the rest of the team. Even on its lowest setting, the Gladiator could easily put him right back in the infirmary at this stage of his recovery; he’s just not fighting fit yet.  
  
“Give it time,” Shiro says, as he takes a break from the training to join his clone. “You’ll get there again. I did.”  
  
“Maybe,” Ryou says, “but time won’t grow me a new arm.” He glances over at his neatly pinned right sleeve, and the remains of his right arm inside it.   
  
Shiro understands completely. It’s been a source of increasing frustration for Ryou, the more independent he gets. Even if he can walk, write, and do most things on his own again, sometimes you just need two hands. They’re invaluable for day-to-day tasks and for combat, and absolutely needed for piloting—assuming Ryou ever needs to jump into the Black Lion’s seat again. Ryou’s been coming up against more and more mundane challenges that are a struggle to overcome just by virtue of only having one hand, and he hates having to ask for help with little things when he can avoid it.   
  
Fortunately, Shiro has a solution. One he’s been working on for movements, now, ever since they’d been sure that Ryou’s treatments had taken effect. And he’d been planning to reveal it soon anyway, ever since Ryou had been healthy enough for Coran to declare him fit for strength training.  
  
So they take care of it two quintents later. There’s a lull in the fighting, enough that Voltron can take a day or two to rest, and Shiro takes the opportunity to order a trip back to Olkarion. That in itself is no surprise, with the Olkari planet now functioning as the center of the coalition organization. What does come as something of a surprise, to Ryou, anyway, is when Shiro encourages him to go planet-side, too.  
  
“Me?” Ryou asks incredulously. “Off the Castle?”  
  
“Why not?” Shiro asks. “I told you being confined to the ship was never going to be permanent. Olkarion is safe, and you haven’t had any trouble with spacial or memory awareness since you started treatment. I don’t see why you can’t stretch your legs on an actual planet. Besides,” he adds, “I have a surprise for you.”  
  
Ryou seems puzzled enough by that to venture off the ship without further argument. Most of the team splits up to enjoy their day off as they like, but Pidge follows after Shiro and Ryou with a knowing grin on her face. It’s enough to leave Ryou suspicious, and he keeps glancing back and forth between them warily.   
  
“What are you two up to?” he finally asks, narrowing his eyes.  
  
“You’ll have to wait and see,” Pidge says, still smirking.  
  
“It’s not bad,” Shiro adds. “You’ll like it. But we need to meet up with Ryner to get started.”  
  
That only adds to the confusion on Ryou’s face, but he follows gamely enough, too intrigued despite himself to walk away.  
  
They meet Ryner at an Olkari lab bordering the edge of the forest, built with an insane mesh of plant-life and metal that nevertheless seems to combine seamlessly for the structure. The inside is just as strangely—but not unpleasantly—furnished, appearing functional and modern with just enough of a natural touch that it isn’t cold, uninviting, and frightening. Shiro had never felt uncomfortable for a second here, despite many vargas of visiting and checking in. Every spare tick he’d had in between Voltron and coalition duties and helping with Ryou’s recovery had been here, but despite that, he never dreads returning.   
  
“Shiro! Right on time,” Ryner says, emerging from a back room with several other Olkari technicians and medical staff. “Welcome back, Pidge. Your input on the binary translation worked excellently. And Ryou! It is a pleasure to see you are recovering. It is an honor to think we can assist with that.”  
  
“Uh…thanks?” Ryou says, bewildered.   
  
“We’ve kept it as a surprise,” Shiro says. Pidge grins. Most of Team Voltron knew about the plans, but Pidge had been instrumental in helping them come to fruition. Her ability to use Olkari technology, and to translate it, had seen to that.  
  
Ryner smiles. “Then we should not keep him waiting,” she says. “Please, come this way. Everything is prepared.”   
  
Shiro isn’t sure he’s ever even made the face that he sees on Ryou, when they walk into the back room after Ryner, and he gets his first sight of the surprise. It’s a new artificial arm, set out on a table in the middle of a comfortable-looking lab, but it’s absolutely nothing like Shiro’s. The Galra arm is a thing of pure science and designed as a weapon first and foremost—it’s extremely efficient but unquestionably artificial, and a human hand and arm only on a superficial level. It doesn’t look or feel natural, it whirs and clicks, and can’t be mistaken for anything other than cold, hard, mechanical practicality.   
  
The one on the table is as different from Shiro’s prosthetic as night and day. Although clearly still made of metal, it doesn’t look nearly so unnatural. The joints aren’t so obvious, it lacks the blatant screws and panels of the Galra prosthetic, and everything about it is so much more seamless. It’s a perfect blend of machine and nature, just like the lab they’re a part of, employing the incredible advances of science while still paying respectful homage to nature’s superior designs.   
  
Ryou stares at the table the arm rests on, and stops dead in his tracks. He glances over at Shiro a moment later, and Shiro catches him making the size comparison to his own prosthetic. Human arm, approximately the same size, and he’s the only one that’s lacking—  
  
“This is…mine?” he asks, voice barely a whisper.  
  
“I also recall promising we’d get you a new one, once you were better,” Shiro says. “Coran said you’re healthy enough to be able to handle it again, and Ryner was happy to help, with Pidge’s own capable assistance.”   
  
“Watching them make it was _incredible,”_ Pidge breathes, eyes bright with excitement. “I can’t wait to see it in action!”   
  
“We can attach it today,” Ryner adds. “It shouldn’t take long. We designed it to be semi-permanent without causing damage to the user, and it should install quickly. But if it needs to be removed for any reason, be it discomfort or injury, it can be without the need for surgery.”   
  
“I can have a hand _today?”_ Ryou clarifies, eyes still wide with shock.  
  
“If you want,” Shiro says. “No rush if you want to wait. I realize we didn’t really give you time to prepare, I just wanted to see your face when we—“  
  
“Now,” Ryou interrupts, still staring at the arm. “You said it doesn’t need surgery? Then do it now.” The longing and borderline desperation in his voice, covered by growing excitement, is all it takes to know Shiro made the right call for today. It’s the last step in his growing independence, and he needs this badly.   
  
“No surgery,” Ryner agrees. “It may take a little work to attune it properly to your mind, however. Olkari constructs are typically directed with control halos to respond to electrical impulses in the brain, and require binary coded messages for accurate control. This did not appear to be a viable form of interface for this prosthetic, however, since only Pidge was able to command our constructs. Pidge was more than helpful in assisting us with translating those protocols to a more viable method for human users.”   
  
She smiles. “We may even be able to adapt the technology to other races as well, to assist the rest of the coalition. But first we must test to ensure you are capable of using it, and make adjustments based on your feedback.”  
  
Ryou hesitates, before asking cautiously, “And what does ‘testing’ entail?”  
  
“Basic exercises,” Ryner says. “Moving all parts of the arm through a series of stretches and basic uses, under your own power. If you are unable to move it as prompted, we will adjust the settings, until you are comfortable. And naturally, once you are used to moving it, we will activate the weaponry for you to practice as well, so you do not injure yourself—“  
  
“Woah, woah,” Ryou says, holding up his left arm. “Weaponry?”  
  
“Naturally,” Ryner says. “As a member of Voltron, it seemed unwise to leave you defenseless. When we were collecting Shiro’s measurements for this piece he mentioned that it was convenient to have a weapon available at all times.”   
  
Ryou’s expression is incredulous as he stares at Shiro, but then he bursts into a grin. “It’ll be nice not to be disarmed, yeah. On two counts.”  
  
Shiro groans. “If your first real step towards not being me is going to be awful puns, I’m disowning you,” he says, but he grins when he says it.  
  
“No, you won’t,” Ryou says. “If you were going to disown me at all you’ve had ample opportunity already, and didn’t.” He takes a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s do this, then.”  
  
Several other Olkari push a comfortable chair forward and gesture for Ryou to sit, and remove his shirt, so they can have full access to the remains of his right arm. Ryou does so willingly, clearly nervous but also just as clearly full of excited anticipation. Pidge is right there next to him, watching with much more visible eagerness; she’s practically glowing as she waits for the Olkari to begin. Shiro gives them more space, waiting back by the table, still able to see but not getting in the way.   
  
Attaching the Olkari prosthetic is nothing at all like the bits and pieces of memories Shiro has for getting his own Galra arm. As Ryner had promised, there’s no need for surgery, and no need for sedation. The end of the prosthetic has already been designed to fit the approximate shape of Ryou’s stump comfortably, shaped based off of scans of Shiro’s own right arm. Ryner adjusts it easily with her ability to manipulate metal, based on Ryou’s feedback on how comfortable it is. It meshes seamlessly to the arm like an extension of the flesh, to the point where it’s almost easy to believe Ryou’s arm just naturally turns gray. It’s even designed to be flexible and compensate the swelling or shrinking of the remainder of the limb, something that bothered Shiro often enough that he’d asked them to incorporate it into the build.  
  
“This part may be uncomfortable,” Ryner says. “Connecting the nerves, that is, so that you can command the prosthetic. But it should be over in just a few doboshes. Ready?”  
  
Ryou grits his teeth. “Do it.”   
  
Ryner places one hand on the prosthetic, and the metal starts to grow green. Ryou jerks once in surprise, but then his expression morphs into something that Shiro can only really describe as ‘very weirded out.’  
  
“Ryou?” Shiro asks. “You okay?”   
  
“Fine,” he says shortly. “It doesn’t really hurt, not after that first zap. Just feels bizarre. Like something’s crawling up the inside of my arm.”  
  
“The synthetic nerves are connecting,” Ryner explains. “The prosthetic is external, and does not attach to bone or disrupt the natural design of the body.” She glances at Shiro’s Galra arm with a disapproving look. They’d studied Shiro’s arm to start building this one, and Ryner had been appalled with the Galra design. “The nerves are designed to integrate with the pre-existing structure as naturally as possible. But the first integration will feel the most strange. In the future when you detach it, re-attaching should work much more quickly once they know the pattern.”   
  
It takes about a dobosh for the nerves to fully integrate, and Ryner and several other Olkari make adjustments based on their scans and Ryou’s feedback. And then comes the fun part: teaching him to use it.  
  
At the end of the day, Shiro’s Galra arm is functionally a machine. It might be shaped like a human hand and arm, and it might move in approximately the same way, but it’s a solid and unfeeling mess of metal and gears and looks exactly like it.   
  
Ryou’s new arm is different. Shiro knows it’s made of metal, but there’s a natural-looking ripple of synthetic muscle as he practices flexing his fingers and lifting his arm. There are some signs giving away that it’s actually mechanical in nature, of course—there’s the faintest of whirs and hums inside when Ryou uses it, and the cracks in the joints of his knuckles or where he bends his wrist and elbow are more prominent when it’s in use. But overall it appears far more organic than Shiro’s own prosthetic. It functions like a machine based on the actual biology and musculature of a human limb, rather than being built as a weapon first and foremost that happens to be hand-shaped as an afterthought. The difference in Olkari and Galra mechanics are truly incredible.  
  
Ryou learns to use it quickly, with a few minor adjustments from the Olkari as they adapt to his personal electrical impulses and adjust the programming in the arm. In the two vargas of initial testing he learns to to flex, hold things, rotate the arm, and put it through a series of basic exercises. It takes his weight easily when he does some practice pushups, and feels comfortably secure when Ryner creates a chin-up bar out of the wall for him to hang on. And there’s one other surprise left that not even Shiro is expecting, when one of the Olkari bring in drinks for a rest break.   
  
Ryou takes his cup with his new arm, reveling in having a second hand again, and his eyes go wide. “It’s _cold,”_ he says with shock, staring at the cup in his hand—his artificial hand.   
  
Shiro blinks at that. “You can feel temperature variation with it?” He can’t help but feel a slight stab of jealousy at that, but forces it down. _Oh, if only, but you know you can’t,_ he reprimands himself sharply. _Just be happy for him. He deserves this._  
  
“Yes,” Ryou says, still stunned. Pidge looks like she’s about to have a field day, and twitches her fingers like she’s just _dying_ to examine his hand and is only holding back because of basic manners—and barely, at that.  
  
“We tried to replicate the nerve system as efficiently as possible,” Ryner says. “I’m afraid it’s not as sensitive as an actual human arm, based on our studies of Shiro’s scans. Temperature or texture will need to be more obvious or more extreme before it will be able to determine it. I’m sorry for that—we can keep working on upgrades for it, in the future.”  
  
“This is fine,” Ryou says, running his artificial thumb along the edge of the cup and its iced contents with a look of wonder. “This is incredible. Thank you for everything.”   
  
Shiro isn’t surprised that Ryou is so shocked. His own right arm has no touch at all, and that’s all Ryou has ever experienced in his life. This is, technically, the first time Ryou has ever actually _felt_ anything with his own right arm. ‘Incredible’ doesn’t do it enough justice. The last of his jealous twinges in the back of his head melt away, and he smiles.  
  
Ryner smiles as well. “We aren’t done just yet—but for the next piece, we should move to the armory. It may be a little dangerous to introduce your weaponry here.”   
  
Ryou’s eyes light up at that with genuine excitement. “Yes. Let’s go,” he says, downing the remainder of his drink and pulling himself to his feet. “Is it like Shiro’s hand? Superheats and cuts through things?”  
  
“Not quite,” Ryner says, still smiling.  
  
Ryner waits until they’re at the armory itself before activating the weapons capabilities in the arm, and only after very carefully instructing Ryou in how to use it. “Concentrate your thoughts on waking your arsenal,” she instructs. “If it works, you will see visual feedback of the activation, not unlike Shiro’s arm. Your weapon is not for close combat, however. Focus on where to aim—never gesture towards any of your allies or yourself while active. Imagine yourself firing. The arm will do the rest.”  
  
Shiro watches with interest as Ryou closes his eyes to concentrate. Ryner had described her ideas to him when using him as a baseline for the prosthetic, but he’d never had a chance to see it in action. Now, as he watches, Ryou outstretches his hand towards a tree in the distance and forms a first. And the arm starts to glow.   
  
It isn’t like Shiro’s hand. Instead of a solid glow, digital lines like the face of a microchip—or perhaps the veins of a leaf—start to swarm up from his fingertips to his elbow, emitting the soft pale green that the Olkari favor. For the first time, it looks less natural and more clearly mechanical, and it whines softly as it charges. Pale green light starts to gather around Ryou’s closed fist and energy condenses around his fingers, before launching out in a burst towards the dead tree he’s aiming for. It blows a chunk of bark out of the tree with the same noise as Lance’s bayard.   
  
Ryou’s jaw actually drops—and so does his concentration. The green lines all up his arm flicker once and die out, and once again it looks like a highly complex bio-mechanical prosthetic.   
  
“That was _incredible!”_ Pidge says. Her eyes are bright with excitement; she looks like Christmas has come early. “Ryner, I don’t believe it! You managed to incorporate the functionality of your flower cannons into the design of the prosthetic, but still maintain its power while accounting for a human host—you _need_ to tell me how you did it!”  
  
“In time,” Ryner agrees, looking equally delighted. “I would be happy to explain how we did it. Ryou, try again—it should become easier with practice, and you should be able to maintain attacks or vary the strength of the blasts with the correct concentration. It operates under a self-sufficient power source, so increasing attacks should put no wear on you, the user—although over-use may lead to it being less responsive until it’s had a chance to recover, so be cautious. We have done our best to replicate human biology in a mechanical setting. But that also means it has some weaknesses of biology as well, like fatigue, or the ability to be injured and feel pain more easily. Do not push yourself too far until you learn the limits.”  
  
“I understand,” Ryou says, marveling as he stares at his palm. “I’ll be careful.” Then he smiles, and outstretches his hand towards the tree again. The digital, pale green lines trace up his fingertips and arm faster this time, and he’s able to fire quicker, blasting another hole in the target tree.  
  
He spends over a varga there, testing the limits of the prosthetic and improving his aim. It will take practice, and his shots are all over the tree, which will need to be remedied. Shiro’s trained with a firearm, and Ryou has used one before according to his stories. But between his illness and the fact that an arm-cannon operates so differently from an actual firearm, it’s not surprising that he hasn’t mastered it yet. He does at least get better with lighting up and firing, and starts getting the idea of varying the strength of the blasts, too, if the slightly smaller or larger pockmarks in the target tree are any indication.   
  
It’s only when he’s clearly starting to tire that Shiro puts a halt to it. It’s the first time in a long while he’s seen Ryou look so truly at peace and truly happy, and he doesn’t want to put an end to it. But Ryou is still recovering, too, and this had been a huge day for him. He’s healthier, but his body can only take so much.   
  
“Thanks for everything, Ryner,” Shiro says, cutting in smoothly. “We’re due back at the ship, but we’ll probably be back for more tune-ups, until everything is all set.”  
  
“Certainly,” Ryner says. “It’s been a pleasure to assist. And based on today’s results, I think we will be able to help a lot more refugees with this technology, too.”   
  
“It’s incredible,” Ryou repeats, flexing his arm and watching the way the fingers work, and the play of synthetic muscle as they flex. He runs it over the rough trunk of another tree, and breathes a soft sigh of delight when he can feel it with his artificial hand. “I can’t thank you enough. You did an amazing job with this. Anyone you can help with this technology will thank you for it.”   
  
“I am happy to hear it,” Ryner says, as she escorts them back to the main city and the road that will lead back to the Castle of Lions. “Feel free to contact us at any point if there are questions or concerns. We will be happy to adjust as needed.”  
  
“I should be thanking you guys, too,” Ryou adds, once they’re on their way back to the Castle. He looks between Shiro and Pidge. “This is where you were disappearing to, in between missions? How much of the team was in on this?”  
  
“All of us,” Pidge says. She’s still staring at Ryou’s new arm like it’s a work of art. He rolls his eyes, but his smile is fond as he holds his arm out to the side, where she immediately takes hold of his wrist to inspect it. “Everyone knew, they all took turns keeping you distracted if me or Shiro had to disappear to meet Ryner for this. They used Shiro for a baseline to design it and get the measurements and the basic brainwaves right, and I helped them get the translation right so it’d actually understand your brain. Figured you didn’t want to learn to subconsciously think in binary for the rest of your life.”  
  
“Not really, no,” Ryou agrees.   
  
“They did even better than I’d realized though,” Pidge says, now toying with Ryou’s palm. “Look at this! It’s more resistant than regular skin but more flexible than metal. You could probably still take a major hit or two with this in a fight before it breaks, although with the extra nerve endings, you’d feel it more than Shiro.” She prods carefully at the synthetic muscles, which resist. “Incredible.”  
  
“Okay, let’s let him have his hand back,” Shiro chides gently. Pidge pouts, but finally lets go, and Ryou flexes his fingers, still staring at his new hand like it’s a miracle.  
  
“I owe you guys a lot for this,” Ryou says. “Thank you both. I’ll have to thank everyone else, too. This is…this is amazing. There aren’t words for it.”   
  
“You deserve it,” Shiro says, smiling. Pidge nods enthusiastically beside him.   
  
Ryou does thank every other member of the crew for their part in the planning, and everyone takes the time to marvel at the new arm as Ryou displays it for them. Lance is excited at the prospect of having another ranged team member, and already offering to do sharpshooting training sessions to catch Ryou up to speed with his new weapon. Hunk recruits him for more cooking training, now that he has two hands for more complex things in the kitchen. Coran approves him for sparring practice in addition to his strength training, as long as he takes it carefully, and both Keith and Allura immediately offer to help teach him the combat basics again, since he’ll be re-learning fighting from scratch. Pidge is already begging to watch the arm in action, and Matt is busy trying to corral her away to give Ryou some space.  
  
Shiro’s just happy Ryou is doing so much better. He’s exhausted from the day’s events, but the arm is the last thing he’d really needed to come back into his own. There’s still a ways to go for his recovery, but everything left is reasonable. He can get there in time. There are no more roadblocks to overcome.   
  
And he does throw himself fully into his recovery, once he has his new limb. Ryou is more focused on his strength training, and devotes himself to the basic drills of martial forms as he starts to prepare for re-engaging in combat. He’s a long way from even facing down the Gladiator, but that doesn’t mean he can’t start training for the eventuality in the future.   
  
And there’s plenty to re-train on. Ryou has memories of fighting using Shiro’s preferred styles, but his body mostly doesn’t, and that means running through simple forms over and over again until he re-conditions himself for combat. On occasion, Shiro’s old muscle memories will resurface for specific strikes or strategies, but Ryou can’t count on it anymore. And between learning to spar again against Allura and Keith just as often as Shiro, it means he picks up on Altean combat styles and some of Keith’s preferred forms just as much as the ones he used to innately know. It means that some ways, his combat is familiar and predictable, and in other ways it’s like watching someone else fight.  
  
It makes for fascinating sparring practice, at least. Shiro can’t predict how Ryou will counter him anymore, but Ryou still has memories of how Shiro fights. It will put him at a distinct disadvantage in the future, although for now they’re a long way from actually getting into any serious matches. Shiro still significantly out-weighs and out-muscles his clone at the moment, and their ‘sparring’ is mostly done at half-time at the fastest, to get Ryou used to the movements again.  
  
It’s during one such slow practice that Ryou catches him by surprise—with words rather than fists. “You should get one of these.”  
  
He waves his Olkari prosthetic at Shiro’s face as he completes a blocking form, mock-countering Shiro’s Galra strike with his own artificial arm. Shiro raises an eyebrow at that, even as he takes a step back. “I already have an arm.”  
  
“You have a Galra arm,” Ryou points out. “This one’s better.”   
  
“It seems pretty great,” Shiro agrees neutrally, “and I’m glad it’s working out for you. You deserve it.”  
  
“But you’re not planning on switching,” Ryou says, dropping his own arms to his sides.  
  
“No.” He’d actually like to, if he’s honest with himself. He hasn’t forgotten that little twinge of jealousy he felt when Ryou first had his arm attached and, even when mechanical, it had still been more human than Shiro’s arm. But it’s not an option.  
  
“It would be good for you,” Ryou counters, frowning. “I’ve _had_ that arm. It hurts. All the time. You just get used to it and learn to deal—like you’re doing now. Don’t deny it, I’ve _been_ you.”   
  
Shiro doesn’t answer.  
  
“I didn’t think it was even possible to have a right arm that didn’t hurt in some way,” Ryou says. “That’s the only arm I’ve had or remember having since I was _born_. I figured that was just the trade off for getting a limb back. But that’s a load of bull. This one is _good.”_ He raises his Olkari hand, flexes the fingers, and uses them to point at Shiro. “This is just as functional and it doesn’t hurt constantly. It’s not something _they_ made and forced on you. You don’t have to be saddled with it anymore. There’s another option.”   
  
“I can’t do that.”  
  
“Why _not?”_ Ryou asks. His frown has progressed to a scowl. “You keep telling me I deserve this one. So do _you._ You shouldn’t have to put up with that thing anymore. If anyone deserves to get rid of it, it’s you. So _why?”_  
  
Shiro sighs. “You know why. We still need the Galra interface, for starters. We still need to know their tech. Possibly to know what else it was built to do besides harvest memory." Ryou winces at that. "Not an accusation," Shiro insists hastily. "You had no part of that. I'm just saying. I don’t like it, but it's too valuable a tool for us to give up right now.”   
  
Ryou shakes his head. “Not good enough. Pidge can study your arm—or mine, wherever it went—just as easily unattached as on you, to get the tech answers. And Keith still has access for biometric codes.”   
  
"Keith has other things he needs to deal with, and I can't hold him accountable to the team all the time if this isn't where he feels he needs to be,” Shiro says. “He’s helped a lot flying point in the Black Lion for the past few feebs, but it’s not what he wants, and he has his own problems to deal with, too. He gets to fight on his terms, just like you and everyone else.”  
  
Ryou’s eyes narrow a little at that. They’re both fairly certain at this point that Keith’s gotten himself into some kind of trouble with the Blade, even if he still won’t talk about the details. They both know Shiro has a valid point. That’s the difficulty of arguing with oneself, or at least someone with a similar mindset.   
  
Ryou doesn’t argue the point. Instead he just says, “Everyone but you, apparently.”  
  
Shiro shrugs. “The drawbacks of being the leader. Besides, even if that wasn’t true, having more than one person that can break biometric locks is useful. Between Keith and I we have it covered, if Pidge ever needs a workaround, or if we need to split up.”  
  
Ryou shakes his head. “It doesn’t seem right. You keep telling me that I need to learn to be my own person. That I can’t let what the Galra decided for me, or made of me, rule my actions. The same has to apply to you. That thing can’t rule what’s good for you.”  
  
“It doesn’t,” Shiro says. “It’s just necessary. Maybe one day…but not now.”  
  
Ryou sighs, and regards Shiro like he’s sizing up a particularly difficult enemy. Shiro knows the look; he uses it often. After a moment, his clone finally says, “Fine. Be that way, for now. I’m going to find a way to knock down every argument you have for that thing. You shouldn’t have to deal with it. I’ll find a way to convince you if it kills me.”  
  
“Let’s avoid you dying,” Shiro says mildly. “It would sort of defeat the purpose of all the hard work we’ve done up until now.”   
  
Ryou tries to maintain his look, but can’t help but snort at that. “I guess it would. Fine. Dying is off the table, but I’ll find another way.”  
  
“It’s good to have goals,” Shiro agrees patiently. And before Ryou can go further, he adds, “You know this is the first time you’ve really argued with me?”  
  
Ryou looks startled at the realization.   
  
“It’s good,” Shiro says. “I mean. _I’m_ probably going to regret it one day, but it’s good for you.” He’d defaulted so often to not just thinking like Shiro, but agreeing with anything he said, that it was a huge mark of progress for him to not just have a different opinion, but to also fight the original on it. It probably _will_ cause some problems in the future—Ryou still has his stubbornness, and if anyone can resist Shiro on something, it will be someone similar to himself.   
  
But Shiro doesn’t regret it, even so. It means Ryou is becoming his own person, slowly but surely. He can’t think of anyone who would deserve that more.  
  
Ryou stares at him for a moment, but then smirks. “You might regret it sooner than you think. I’m _very_ goal oriented. Ask me about Naxzela—so on point I even caught myself by surprise.”  
  
“Nice try,” Shiro says, “but shock factor isn’t going to work. You still have my sense of humor.”  
  
“Give me time,” Ryou says. “I’ll figure it out.”  
  
It’s an apt summary for Ryou in general. They’ve gotten him more time again, even if he’ll be taking pills for the rest of his life, even if it he wears his near loss in his graying hair and his thinner, leaner frame, even if it’s cost him memories and abilities and set him back to square one. None of it matters. They’ve given him time, and with enough of it, he’ll claw his way back to the top. And he’ll do it on his terms, in his own way—not anyone else’s.   
  
He’ll have the time now. He’ll figure it out. And no matter where that leads, Shiro is looking forward to really meeting that person, and seeing him grow.  
  
He is family, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There. That wasn't so bad, was it? I hope I've earned everyone's trust for next time :) 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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